Black Raven
by praemonitus praemunitus
Summary: A slight AU on what I thought could and should have happened after Steve rescued Joe from Adam Noshimuri.
1. Chapter 1

****A/N Hello. I didn't think I was going to be back so soon, but this story idea has been nagging at me ever since the episode when Joe was kidnapped by Noshimuri's men. I thought it strange that head of the Yakuza wouldn't retaliate after something as daring as what Steve did - i.e., breaking into the man's home, knocking out his people and pulling a gun on him. I felt like there had to be more to this story. Plus, I was left very unsatisfied by the whole quote-unquote "resolution" of the Shellbourne thing. After all the tension and the build-up, I felt it was way too rushed and too ... unextraordinary, for lack of a better term.

Not saying that my idea is better. It's just a different take on the whole thing. A bit of an AU, but something that I think could have happened (in my humble opinion ;). I'll be waiting to hear your comments on this idea as the story unfolds. And, as always, reviews are more than welcomed and greatly appreciated!

A/N2 The title of the story comes from an old Russian folk song about a young mortally wounded soldier who lays in the field, watching a black raven circle above him in anticipation of an easy prey (depressing, I know). Well, onward with the story. I promise, it's not a death fic :)

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

**O Black Raven, do not circle**

**In the sky above my head,**

**You'll not have me as your quarry**

**O Black Raven, I'm not yours**

(from a Russian folk song)

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><p><em>"You know, McGarrett, when a person goes to the trouble of getting himself a phone, the expectation is that said person would actually use the device as intended and pick up when his partner is trying to get a hold of him..."<em>

Danny's voice, muffled and distorted by background noise filtered into his consciousness, and Steve blinked sluggishly, as the misshapen blob above him morphed into the contours of a familiar chandelier. _Home? _He was home. Lying on his back, from the looks of it, staring up at his own ceiling._ Why?_

He struggled to remember against the incessant pounding in his head; struggled to put the broken, jagged flashes of memories into some semblance of order. He remembered Adam Noshimuri's face twisted with helpless rage as the latter stared down the barrel of Steve's own gun. He remembered Joe, bruised and bloody, refusing once again to respond to his pleas to tell him the truth. He remembered the car door slamming, and his mentor walking away. And he remembered himself, sitting alone in his car, his chest swelling with bitterness and despair that gradually turned into the numbness of defeat.

Maybe that was why he was distracted. Maybe that was why he didn't notice that anything was amiss until he pushed open the door to his house.

Regardless of the reason, that lapse in attention must have been what landed him in his current predicament. Just what exactly that predicament was, however, he had yet to figure out.

_"Pick up, Steve!"_

_Danny again. Where was he? Why couldn't he see him?_

He tried turning his head toward the sound, but the explosion of pain that followed that simple movement had him quickly abandon the idea. Eyes slammed shut against the merciless onslaught, he lay rigid, listening in confusion as his partner's agitated voice crackled through the air.

_"If you don't pick up your goddamn phone in the next five seconds, I'm coming over. And if you're not there, I swear to God, I'm gonna LoJack your ass!" _

"Well, we can't have the good detective coming here just yet, can we?" another vaguely familiar voice permeated into his scrambled consciousness, and he peeled his eyes open, waiting for the newly appeared blurry shape above him to take form.

_Adam Noshimuri?_

His confusion must have shown clearly on his face, for the new head of the Yakuza smiled coldly down at him, nodding in predatory satisfaction.

"Surprised, Commander? You didn't really expect to break into my home and pull a gun on me without there being any kind of repercussions for your own well-being, did you? Tsk-tsk-tsk," he shook his head mockingly. "I would have thought a man like you would know better."

Noshimuri squatted down next to him, his dark face filling up Steve's entire field of vision.

"You chose to protect the man who murdered my father. Now I choose to punish you in his stead."

He motioned to someone off to his left. "Get him up. Let's leave a little memento for Commander McGarrett's friends."

Hands reached down toward him, and Steve tried to remember what it was that Joe had told him before he left. _Hiro. Joe didn't murder him. Adam's father was alive. He needed to tell him. He..._

His thoughts were brought to an abrupt end, as two strong hands pulled him roughly up off the floor, and his world spun dangerously, a wave of dizziness engulfing him, squeezing a tight vise against his throat. He choked on his words, swallowing convulsively against the overwhelming nausea.

"Open your eyes, Commander," Noshimuri's voice hissed above his ear, and he frowned in confusion - he hadn't realized that they were closed.

Groggily he tried to obey, but nausea threatened anew, and he hesitated, forcing harsh deep breaths through his nose, waiting for the episode to subside. _A few minutes. He just needed a few minutes._

Unfortunately, Adam Noshimuri was not a patient man. Another hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, jerking his head upward. Lightning, harsh and blinding, exploded in his brain, and he threw up harshly, violently and very accurately, if angry shouts of disgust were anything to go by.

"Son of a bitch!"

A retaliatory blow to the head wasn't unexpected. A sharp exclamation putting a stop to any further abuse was not.

He risked a cautious glance at his unlikely benefactor, relieved to note that Noshimuri's face no longer swam before him in nauseating circles, and was nearly blinded by a bright flash of a cell phone camera. _What the hell?_

"Perfect," Noshimuri smiled at the image on his screen, putting the cell phone, _Steve's own cell phone_, away. "Now let's hustle boys. The Commander's buyer is meeting us in half an hour. Let's not keep him waiting, shall we?"

And Steve was dragged out of his home and into the back of a black SUV, Adam Noshimuri's disconcerting words ringing in his ears.

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><p>TBC<p>

Well, what do you think? Shall I keep going with this?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Thank you so much! All the alerts and the favorites and the reviews! You are making me one incredibly giddy gal :) Thank you! I am going to endeavor to actually respond to your reviews this time (I will do my best), and I hope not to disappoint with the future chapters.

A/N Each chapter in this story will be accompanied by a verse from the song "Black Raven" I mentioned in the previous chapter. Some of the verses will be different to reflect the changes in the storyline.

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><p>O Black Raven, do not circle<p>

In the sky above my head,

You'll not have me as your quarry

O Black Raven, I'm not yours

(from a Russian folk song)

**Chapter 2**

Danny Williams was worried. Not that he would ever admit it, not even to himself. But the worry was there. It sat crouching at the pit of his stomach - a dark and viscous glob that was gnawing at him like a hungry hyena. He tried to ignore it. Tried to drown it out with thoughts of his own messed up personal life. Tried to reassure himself that the object of his worry - his walking disaster of a partner - was a grown man, a tough as titanium nails Navy SEAL, who could very well take care of himself.

Yet the worry persisted, twisting deep in his gut. And Danny tended to trust his gut, especially when it came to the Super-SEAL. That was the reason why he had picked up the phone in the first place to dial his partner. And that was why ten unanswered phone calls and four unreturned messages later he was driving through the night-time streets of Oahu on his way to McGarrett's house, instead of relaxing on his couch with a nice cool bottle of beer.

In his head he was going over various scenarios of killing the Super-SEAL once he laid his hands on him. He already had a nice little rant prepared all for Steve's benefit, complete with "How dare you's", "Is it too much to ask's" and the all-time classic "Do I need to shove a freaking homing beacon up your ass?".

As the dark and hauntingly deserted-looking silhouette of McGarrett's house loomed before him, however, all of those angry thoughts were quickly forgotten. Pulling the car to a sharp stop, he jumped out, gun drawn, and moved cautiously toward the eerily silent home.

"Steve?"

No answer.

"Steve?" louder this time, more desperate, as he tried to peer through the darkness beyond the gaping hole of the doorway, the front door that was carelessly flung open. _Steve would have never left his house open like that. Not unless..._

Danny bit his lip, pushing the alarming thoughts away. He saw nothing, heard nothing, his own heart pounding louder than a pile driver. His free hand snaked around the threshold, feeling blindly for a light switch. The overhead light came on, flooding the glaringly empty room, and Danny moved forward slowly, his gaze riveted to a strange ugly stain on an otherwise pristinely clean floor.

He bent down closer, his nose wrinkling in disgust. _Vomit._ Frowning, he looked around the room, trying to come up with any sort of explanation as to what could have taken place here.

His phone rang suddenly, making him jump, and he glanced at the caller ID, nearly going dizzy with relief.

"Steve, you son of a bitch! Where the hell have you -"

"Hello, Detective." A flat, unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line stopped his tirade cold.

"Who the hell is this?" he barked, his short-lived elation at the thought of finally locating his wayward partner morphing into a solid ball of fear that once again settled itself in the pit of his stomach. "Where's my partner?"

"The Commander is unavailable to speak to you at this time," the voice replied with the same measured coldness that raised every hair on the back of Danny's neck. "But he would like for you to pass a message along to Joe White."

Danny's eyes widened at the mention of Steve's mentor. He knew something was going on with the guy. _Dammit! He should have kept a closer eye on Steve..._

"Tell him that Commander McGarrett has assumed part of Mr. White's debt, but that I will soon be coming to collect the rest."

"Wait, what does that - ... what have you done with Steve?" he managed past a steadily growing lump of fear in his throat.

"Do be sure to pass this along, Detective," the stranger cut in impassively, ignoring the question. "And check your inbox. There's a new message for you. You might want to share it with Mr. White as well."

The line went dead, and Danny was left staring dumbfounded at Steve's name until the screen faded to black. _Someone had Steve's phone. Worse. Someone had Steve._ And from what Steve had told him, the one person who was really angry at Joe White was Adam Noshimuri. Angry enough to open fire at him in the middle of a busy avenue in bright daylight. _And if the Yakuza had Steve..._

Danny's thoughts were interrupted, as his phone beeped sharply, announcing the arrival of a new e-mail. Remembering the stranger's words, he went to open his inbox, hands trembling despite himself.

One... two... three heartbeats. He stared at an unfamiliar name before his finger clicked on the attachment.

One... two... three heartbeats. He took in the dazed look in his partner's eyes and the angry red bruising that covered the whole left side of his face.

One heartbeat later he was out the door.

H50 - H50 - H50 - H50

The Camaro squealed indignantly as he flew into a particularly sharp curve without bothering to slow down. A pair of cats purring amorously on a bus bench under the cover of darkness scattered in different directions, howling their displeasure.

Danny ignore them. All of his self-control hinged on keeping his mind focused on one single goal -getting to Joe's place. And he knew that even a momentary distraction from that goal would cause him to lose it. And so he gripped the steering wheel tighter, keeping his eyes glued to the road in front of him, trying not to think about what would happen once he got to where he was going.

H50 - H50 - H50 - H50

The door squeaked open after a third knock, and the room's only occupant cautiously stepped aside, allowing him to come in.

Danny walked inside, his blue eyes darkening at the sight of a gun in Joe's right hand, now lowered and semi-relaxed.

"Expecting someone else?" he inquired coldly, throwing a quick glance around the room.

The older man locked the door behind him, shoving the gun inside his waistband. "Just being cautious," he replied with affected carelessness.

"Uh-huh," Danny nodded sarcastically. "Might your sudden need for caution have something to do with whoever it was that danced all over your mug?" He pointed at the colorful bruising adorning the older man's face. "What happened today?"

Joe shook his head, his features hardening into a familiar impenetrable wall that Danny had witnessed so many times before with Steve. The reminder slashed at him like a knife across his gut, and the Jersey native inhaled sharply, fisting his hands at his sides, as he fought for control.

Joe's very next words made him lose that fight.

"That's really none of your business..."

"None of my-," he cut himself off in an angry bark of a laughter. Fury washed over him like a tidal wave, and he no longer bothered to keep it in check. His right fist flew up, slicing swiftly and purposefully through the charged air between them until it reached its intended target, plunging into it with a satisfying thwack.

The former SEAL Commander tumbled backwards under the force of the blow, barely catching himself on the edge of a table behind him. Face creased with apprehension and surprise, he stared at the smaller man before him, cautiously dabbing his finer at a reopened cut on his lip.

Danny in the meantime had whipped out his phone, pulled up Steve's picture and shoved it in Joe's face, snarling, "Is this none of my business either?"

"What is this?" Joe stared at the image of his protégé, apprehension giving way to a frown of worry.

"This was sent to me a few minutes ago by someone, who claims that you owe him some sort of debt. Now, I'm guessing this has something to do with your recent stunts involving the Yakuza. And I'm also guessing that when they say that Steve is paying off part of your debt, they don't mean _cash, check or charge_ kind of payment. How am I doing so far?"

Instead of a response, Joe straightened out, his broken lip forgotten, and headed wordlessly toward the door.

"Where the hell are you going?" he all but screamed.

"To see Adam Noshimuri," the older man replied imperturbably, turning back to face him long enough to gesture for him to come along.

"Come on. Don't dawdle."

It took a great deal of effort on Danny's part not to shoot the inscrutable bastard in the back. But he restrained himself, for Steve's sake, and gritting his teeth sharply, followed the other man out the door.

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><p>TBC<p>

Well? What do you think? It's Danny and Joe to the rescue once again. Question is, will they be on time? Reviews, please (pretty please)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N Well, I'm really glad I got you all intrigued. ;) Some of you suggested that Joe may not have been telling the truth about Shellburn thing. Could be. I very much hope it's true - it would make so much more sense. Wouldn't it be fun if what I have in mind is what they actually end up doing in the finale? (ha-ha - just crazy wishful thinking)

Thank you, guys, so-so much for all the faves and alerts (and reviews - what would I do without reviews to brighten my day?)! I hate to disappoint those of you who were hoping that Danny and Joe would find Steve quickly enough and get him safely back home. You know me, I'm a sucker for whumpage. evil grin And how can I get to whumping our favorite SEAL without throwing some twists into the plot?

So, no Steve yet in this chapter. But a Steve-centric one is the next one up. Soon as I get to it :) Hope you like what I've got so far.

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><p><strong>O Black Raven, do not circle<strong>

**In the sky above my head,**

**You'll not have me as your quarry**

**O Black Raven, I'm not yours**

**(from a Russian folk song)**

Chapter 3

Danny Williams was no coward. In fact, he considered himself a rather brave person - rational, unlike some Super-SEALs he knew, but brave. Yet, as he followed Joe past the sharp iron gate spires and straight into Noshimuri's lair, watching the older man walk calm and unflinching through a thicket of weapons aimed at his head with unmistakable hostility, Danny had to admit his grudging respect for the man.

Unsurprisingly, they were searched - brusquely, roughly - their guns and cell phones taken away from them and dropped carelessly onto a nearby table.

Flanked by two of his personal bodyguards, Adam Noshimuri watched them silently, waiting for his men to finish. Finally, satisfied that they were both disarmed and rendered virtually harmless, the head of the Yakuza stepped forward, his eyes glittering with undisguised rage.

"I didn't expect you to bring a friend, Commander White," he said venomously, nodding at Williams. "Then again, you do seem to be in the habit of having other people pay for your mistakes. I supposed I shouldn't be surprised."

This pointed reference to Steve slashed at him like a whip, and Danny lost it. Taking an abrupt step forward, ignoring the threatening way all weapons swiveled sharply in his direction, he ground out, pointing at Joe, "I'm not here for his sake. I'm here to get my partner back." He surveyed the large room around him, the blue eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Where is he, by the way? I don't see him."

Noshimuri's infuriatingly calm gaze met Danny's apprehensive one, and the mafia boss's lips thinned into a rueful smile. "I thought I already told you, Detective. Your friend has made an unfortunate decision to protect this man," he jabbed an angry finger in Joe's direction. "He has paid the price for that decision."

Danny bit through his lower lip in a vain effort to keep it from trembling. "What do you mean by that?" he asked with near desperation in his voice.

"First things first, Detective," Noshimuri turned away from him, once again facing the former SEAL. "I believe you owe me for my father's life, Commander."

Curling his bottom lip - the only outward sign of his nervousness - Joe shook his head gently, his voice level as he spoke: "I didn't kill your father, Adam. I helped save his life."

The dark, slanted eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Don't screw with me, Commander. I'm not in the mood."

Another quick shake of the head. "I'm not." Pointing at his cell phone on the table, Joe added, "I can prove it."

A few tense seconds passed by, as Adam Noshimuri considered him silently. Then he nodded, "Go ahead."

Paying no heed to the barrels of the guns trained on his person nor to the fact that Danny's eyes were literally boring a hole in his back, Joe stepped closer to the table. Carefully, so as not to provoke the trigger-happy Yakuza goons, he picked up his phone and dialed a familiar number. "Here," he handed the phone to Noshimuri, making sure to catch the man's eye, "my proof."

Cautiously, hesitantly Adam Noshimuri reached for the small device as a man would for a snake, known to be poisonous.

"Hello?" And his eyes widened impossibly, as he recognized the voice on the other side. "Father?"

Two pairs of eyes warily followed the Japanese man as the latter spoke agitatedly into the phone. Then, as he finished, they both involuntarily took a step back, for Adam Noshimuri closed what little distance was left between them and himself with the speed and ferocity of a pouncing lion.

"Explain," he all but growled at Joe, pushing the phone into its owner's arms.

White took back the device, unperturbed, and spoke with the calm that belied the tension he was feeling, "What did your father tell you?"

Noshimuri bit his bottom lip, fighting for control over his emotions. "He said you helped save his life." He shook his head, disbelieving, and added, "He also said to trust you."

Joe nodded slowly, as if expecting to hear that exact response, and remarked, "Then, perhaps, you could start by asking your boys to stand down?"

Noshimuri considered him a moment, wary and suspicious. Finally, he relented motioning for his men to lower the weapons. "Explain," he repeated, softer this time, and crossed his arms on his chest - his last subconscious expression of distrust toward the man before him.

Ignoring Noshimuri's defensive posture, Joe glanced quickly around him and, seeing a chair nearby, promptly sat down on it, relaxing as much as the circumstances allowed. If the head of the Yakuza was upset by this show of disrespect toward his persona, however, he didn't show it, but continued to stand as calmly as he could, waiting for the other man to speak.

"I went to see your father in prison before his release," Joe said finally, his steady gaze fixed on Hiro's offspring.

"Why?"

"I'm involved with an organization that is trying to bring down Wo Fat and put an end to his operations," Joe explained matter-of-factly, unsurprised by a sharp intake of breath off to his right, followed by Danny's angry, "You, son of a bitch! You've been lying to us all along."

"I didn't have a choice," the older man defended without turning his head. "Wo Fat is too well connected. You, guys, have experienced it first-hand. I couldn't risk him finding out."

"Couldn't risk-?" Danny was livid now, hands chopping wildly through the air. "You couldn't trust us, you mean. Couldn't trust the guy who trusts you implicitly. Let me guess, you were afraid Steve might have that bastard on speed dial."

"It's not that-"

"Gentlemen!" Adam Noshimuri's sharp call brought them both up short. "Let's get back to the matter at hand, shall we?"

Still seething, Danny shoved his hands in his pockets, nodding for Joe to continue.

The former Navy man closed his eyes momentarily, swallowing the blond detective's silent contempt.

"Wo Fat doesn't like loose ends. He demonstrated that very well with Victor Hess and several other individuals in ... other countries. Your father knew that. He knew that if Wo Fat so much as suspected that he might talk to someone, he would have your father killed. I offered Hiro a deal - getting him off Wo Fat's radar in exchange for information. Your father agreed."

Noshimuri nodded his understanding. "So you faked his death and got him out of the country."

It wasn't a question, yet Joe felt compelled to voice his affirmation.

"What was the information you got from my father?"

Joe shook his head. "I can't tell you that. What I can tell you is that it helped us shut down quite a few of Wo Fat's operations overseas. Put a sizeable dent in them." He smiled at the thought. "I would imagine he's off licking his wounds somewhere now, trying to regroup."

A strange expression crossed Adam Noshimuri's face, and he cautioned quietly, "Wounded predators are very dangerous, Commander. They have a habit of turning on their attackers and ripping them to shreds. ...Or do the same to other, more convenient targets..."

The older man frowned at that remark, unsure where the mobster was going with this thought. He was about to ask, but Danny's voice interrupted him.

"You got what you wanted. Your father is alive. This guy," he pointed at Joe, "despite his obviously annoying nature, hasn't done anything in this particular instance to deserve your ire. Let us take Steve home now and forget this little misunderstanding."

Noshimuri turned to the shorter man, and Danny's heart sank at the look of regret he saw in the dark slanted eyes. "Commander McGarrett isn't here."

"What do you mean?" Danny exclaimed, trying to keep his voice steady. "What have you done to him?"

The Yakuza boss shook his head sadly. "Nothing personally. But the Commander has many enemies. I'm afraid I handed him over to one of them."

Fear gripped his insides, turning them to ice. He felt Joe rise beside him, asking the question he himself didn't dare ask.

"Who?"

Didn't dare ask because he already knew the answer.

"Wo Fat."

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><p>TBC<p>

Okay, who among you didn't see that one coming? ;-) Let me know your thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N **Sorry, I took a bit longer than expected. Real life keeps interfering :)

Thank you SO much for the reviews and the faves and the alerts! You, guys, are amazing! I hope my lucky streak continues. This chapter is where my plot takes its first big twist (more detailed explanations will follow in the next chapters). I'm hoping it's believable. If you're having a hard time with it, I have nothing better to offer than the good old Shakespearean suggestion to "suspend your disbelief" :-) (at least for the time being - I'm hoping things will come to a more or less reasonable conclusion). This is also where the song makes its first change.

I hope you enjoy this. And, once again, I humbly ask the favor of hitting that pesky little review button once you reach the end of the chapter. Let me know what you think.

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><p><strong>O Black Raven, pull your claws back<strong>

**Why unfurl them above my head?**

**Do you sense a prey, Black Raven?**

**O Black Raven, I'm not yours.**

**Chapter 4**

Steve's foot caught on the top step of a small staircase, and he would have fallen, had it not been for two strong pairs of arms that held him in a vise-like grip. They pulled him up roughly, his bound hands screaming in protest, and pushed him forward onto even ground.

It had been a little over an hour ago that Noshimuri's men had pulled him out of their car and had dragged him bound and blindfolded onto what he could only assume was a boat, given the slight rocking of the floor underneath his feet and the distinctly salty smell of the ocean, overwhelming his restricted senses. A little over an hour that he had been pushed unceremoniously down a small narrow flight of stairs and locked inside some room. No one has said a word to him; no one has come to see him.

Until now.

A hard shove between his shoulder blades interrupted his musings, sending him stumbling forward, and he staggered wildly in a vain attempt to keep himself upright. Someone's hand dug painfully into his shoulder, steadying him. A second later he felt fingernails scrape down the side of his face, pulling off his blindfold.

Steve blinked, trying to get his dry, bleary eyes to focus on the fuzzy shapes before him.

"Take a good look, Commander," came a familiar voice behind him, chilling him to the bone. "You won't get another chance."

He stiffened - the closeness of his sworn enemy reminding him all too vividly about the hours of torture, both physical and emotional, that he had to endure at the hands of this man. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and slam his head into the arrogant, jeering mug of his parents' killer; to break the bastard's nose and watch him writhe on the ground.

But he did none of that. He couldn't. And not because of his still-bound hands, or because he was afraid of Wo Fat's goons. No. His eyes were drawn to a small strip of rugged mountainous terrain in the distance that rose straight out of the dark waters of the ocean, steeped in pre-dawn gloom. _Oahu. _He'd recognize that shape anywhere. Hell, he'd flown over the island enough times by now to be able to draw every curve, every ridge from memory. _They were probably about 30 miles out. Heading west from the looks of it. But where to?_

"Both your parents had the fortune of dying on their native land," the Asian man continued in his usual cold manner.

"Of being murdered, you mean," he retorted, his jaw tight with anger.

"I am prepared to extend to you the same courtesy," Wo Fat offered, unperturbed, as he stepped around his captive, positioning himself so he could look Steve in the face. The calm dark eyes bored into the furious, stormy blues. "All I want from you is the location of Shellburn."

Steve's lips twisted into a wry smile. "I do this and you dump my body in the ocean." It wasn't a question, and he read confirmation of his conjecture in the other man's eyes.

"At least you'll still be in Hawaiian waters," the Asian man smirked. "That's better than the alternative."

"Which is?"

The dark eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "You ever heard of _kwan-li-so_, Commander?"

Steve frowned, unable to hide his surprise, and his nemesis smiled at that reaction. "Of course you have. Being in the Navy and all."

"What does it have to do with me?" Steve wondered, feeling uncomfortably unnerved by the vulturous glee that shone in the Asian's eyes.

Instead of responding, Wo Fat turned to stare back at the gradually shrinking island, running a smoothing hand over his immaculately combed hair. "I was very angry at you after North Korea, Commander," he said finally, his voice bland and emotionless as ever. "I went to a lot of trouble to get you there, and I don't like having my plans foiled."

"You mean, you don't like having to run with your tail between your legs," Steve nodded, unable to hold back a biting response.

His captor didn't rise to the bait. Keeping his eyes fixed on the slowly disappearing dot that was Oahu, Wo Fat spoke again, patient and condescending as if talking to a somewhat slow-witted child.

"However angry **I** was at you, though, the North Koreans were far angrier. Bringing a military unit from a hostile country is bad enough, but having that unit destroy vital infrastructure and engage in combat with North Korean nationals, killing some of them?" He shook his head, finally turning back to face the former SEAL. "Your team's actions were an act of war, Commander. The North Koreans want blood. Seeing that you are that team's leader, I'm sure they will want to make an example of you. Kwan-li-so camps are notorious for providing just such examples."

"That's your alternative then?" the ex-SEAL scoffed, fighting to keep his composure. "Either I tell you what you want to hear and you kill me on the spot or-"

"Or I take you to a friend of mine in Yodok, and your new home, for however long you manage to survive there, will be called Kwan-li-so No. 15."

Steve closed his eyes, exhaling sharply. Wo Fat was right. He knew all about the kwan-li-so concentration camps, the so-called 'reeducation centers'. He'd read the stories, seen the photos. Hell, he'd even seen some of the people who'd managed to live to tell the tale. He was under no illusions about his chances there. He was a foreigner, a westerner, an American - and, worse yet, he was from American military. It would be a miracle if they didn't decide to shoot him on the spot.

Still, there was a chance, however slight, that the Koreans would let him live, at least for a while. And the possibility of staying alive, even in a concentration camp, was still better than sure death right here, right now, in the middle of the ocean. As long as there's life, as they say, there's hope. And right now hope was all he had.

Hope that somehow, someway he'll manage to escape. Hope that his partner, who, he knew, will move heaven and earth to find him, will somehow get lucky.

Hope. A powerful drug that makes people foolishly ignore the inevitable. Steve was desperate enough to play the fool.

Staring back into the eyes of his would-be executioner, he said with as much outward calm as he could muster, "My partner is always on my case about making rash decisions. I think it's high time I listened to him. I'll take my chances in North Korea." He allowed himself a small smile at the memory of his garrulous, blond-haired friend, and the smile grew wider when he noted the angry tightening of his opponent's jawline.

A fraction of a second later the Asian man regained his self-control, leveling the former SEAL with another cold, indifferent stare. "We have about two days worth of sailing before we reach the Tern Island. From there an airplane will take us to North Korea."

He nodded to the two men standing on either side of his prisoner. "Take him back to the hold."

Then, shifting his gaze to the pale but stubbornly defiant face of the man he had spent so much of his time hating, Wo Fat added with a hint of something that nearly amounted to regret, "I suggest you use this time to think over my offer, Commander. I can at least ensure that your death will be quicker."

Steve smiled grimly. "What is that old Japanese saying? If you sit long enough by the riverbank, you'll see the body of your enemy float by?" He noted the irritated darkening of his opponent's features, and his heart, heavy with the burden of impending (and likely permanent) separation from everything he held dear, felt just a tad lighter. "Since we've pretty much established that the end result will be the same, I'd rather take the longer version. Who knows, I might even get a chance to kill you first."

Had he the energy for it, he would have probably laughed at the expression of helpless rage that flickered across his captor's face. And as he was, once again, pushed forcefully down the same flight of stairs, he thought he heard Danny's voice snap in his head, _"You, idiot, stop angering the people who are threatening to kill you."_

* * *

><p><em>TBC<em>

No whumpage yet, but it's coming, it's coming... _  
><em>


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N** I was hoping to get this chapter out sooner, but... as usual, life interfered. Thank you to all of you, who take the time to read and review! You, guys, brighten my day! :)

I have to say I loved last week's episode. The story structure was brilliant - the beginning with Lori's blood-covered hands and the knowledge that Steve was injured but not knowing just how bad - that was some great tension. The rest of the storyline, I thought, was very well done. Yes, I could have gone for a bit more Danny comforting the hurt Steve, but we can't have it all (that's what fanfiction is for :)

I gotta give special Kudoz to Scott Caan. I was actually able to understand fairly clearly what he said in the Russian embassy. Yes, the accent was there, but, unlike so many unfortunate other instances of actors being completely incomprehensible when they blabber out some phrase in Russian, his lines were delivered very clearly. So, great job, Danno! :)

Okay, now a few words of warning about this and upcoming chapters. I am using a real punitive labor camp as a background (yes, they do, unfortunately, exist in North Korea and a few other places). I've done some research, not extensive, by any means, but enough, I hope, to make the story more real and more believable. So, a warning: some descriptions may be difficult to read. I do not mean to offend anyone's sensitivities (especially not the people's who had to go through these horrors themselves), and I apologize in advance should anyone find my descriptions objectionable. I do hope everyone understands that this is just a work of fiction and is not meant to refer to any real people. As they say, any similarities with real persons are purely accidental.

And, yes, I do promise to bring our SEAL back in one piece (relatively speaking ;-)

On with the story.

* * *

><p><strong>O Black Raven, pull your claws back<strong>

**Why unfurl them above my head?**

**Do you sense a prey, Black Raven?**

**O Black Raven, I'm not yours.**

**Chapter 5**

Dawn cracked open the bleak darkness of a North Korean night, the first shy rays of the warm late-summer sun gliding with squeamish familiarity over the drab uniform buildings, not quite able, never quite able to melt away the soul-chilling cold that emanated from their walls.

The blood, the moaning, the suffering, the torture, the gray, faceless, emaciated creatures - no longer quite living, not quite yet dead.

And the inhumanity, oh the inhumanity! The sun had seen it all, revolted, hid for days behind a veil of thick, impenetrable clouds - drab and gray like awful landscape below. And, eventually, like the lowly humans on the ground, the sun, too, grew apathetic, becoming too accustomed to the horrors that were laid bare before it on a daily basis.

A couple of days ago things have changed. A new human creature was added to the gray mix of helpless victims. He looked different from the rest. Taller, more muscular. His hair was dark and wavy; his eyes - deep blue and burning with a fiery intensity that seemed unshakeable somehow.

Curious for the first time in oh so many years the sun decided to follow the newcomer, to see if maybe, just maybe, his fate would be different from the rest.

But then came the beating. The newcomer was thrown roughly onto the ground, while three uniformed torturers pounced on him with everything they had - fists, boots, wooden boards, rifle butts. Viciously, endlessly. Continuing long after the newcomer was already unconscious. Stopping only when the physical effort became too much for them, tired them out.

Then came the obligatory head shaving. Crude, dull clippers shaved off the blood-matted wavy locks, cutting into the unprotected skin and leaving ugly bleeding scrapes after each pass. Still mercifully unconscious, the newcomer felt none of that. Neither did he feel as his torturers grabbed him by the wrists and dragged him carelessly into one of the drab buildings, undoubtedly for even further torture.

Disheartened, the sun hid behind a thick blanket of fog for two straight days. Yet curious despite itself, it soon decided to seek out the newcomer. Today, it decided, was the day.

A thin, cautious ray slid across the rough cement wall, carefully peeking into every small window, until it hit the jackpot.

A small, gray, uncomfortable room; its walls cold and bare except for a single metal bar that jutted out from the wall a few feet above the floor. Hands handcuffed behind his back and bent at an impossible angle, the newcomer was hanging in the middle of the room, tied by his wrists to the metal contraption behind him. The toes of his bare feet only just scraping the floor, unable to support his weight in this position and give him even an ounce of relief; his muscles strained almost to the point of ripping, chest sticking out from enormous pressure, he appeared to be on the verge of breaking.

The sun had glimpsed a similar scene many-a-times in this god-forsaken corner of the world; had gotten used to the sight of it. Yet now, helpless to do anything to ease this man's pain, it felt compelled to offer him what meager comfort it could.

Putting as much warmth as it could in its golden touch, the sun let its ray slide down the side of the newcomer's face, softly, tenderly, caressing the bruised, broken skin - traces of the earlier beating.

The pain-clouded blue eyes fluttered open, seeking the source of the sudden welcome warmth, and the dry, bloodied lips quivered slightly, pulling into a weak but grateful smile. "Hey, little one," the man whispered hoarsely, greeting his solar companion.

The ray slipped sideways, bouncing off the prisoner's cheek onto his shoulder, but at that moment heavy-booted steps echoed in the empty hallway, and seconds later the door to the newcomer's room flew open, revealing a uniformed older North Korean.

Startled, the ray pulled back, repulsed by the chilling darkness that burst forth from the hollow emptiness behind the warden. And then, as the man stepped further into the room, placing himself between the window and the newcomer, the ray - no longer able to lend its warmth to its newfound playmate - dimmed and disappeared altogether.

H50-H50-H50

"Hello, Commander." The uniformed Korean stepped closer to his captive, openly admiring the way the handcuffed man's muscles trembled from unimaginable stress. "My name is Kee Jung-Hwa. I am a political commissar here at Yodok. I've been told you have a very good knowledge of Korean. This will make our communication very easy." He grinned, watching the American struggle to lift his head to look at him.

"How do you like your current accommodations?" The Korean bent down slightly, bringing himself to eye level with his prisoner. "The camp commander wanted to have you shot on the spot. But I managed to convince him that reeducating you would be a much better option. It is such an excellent opportunity to reeducate a Westerner, Commander. Makes for a much more potent propaganda tool." The Korean smiled proudly, a faraway look in his eyes. "Just imagine - an American Navy SEAL professing his loyalty to Kim Jong-un, the Supreme Leader of North Korea." He returned his gaze to the prisoner, watching him with a gleeful sneer. "As a political commissar, it is my job to think of such things. An excellent idea, wouldn't you say?"

Swallowing against his parched throat, Steve leveled the Korean with what he hoped was a withering glare, but remained silent.

Jung-Hwa's face darkened almost imperceptibly, a dangerous glint appearing in the unkind, slanted eyes. "Do you know why the locals call this 'pigeon torture', Commander?" he asked, pointing at the metal bar behind his prisoner. "You see, when a person is hung by his hands like you are now, eventually his chest begins to stick out from the pressure, and he starts to resemble a bird."

The Korean tilted his head, casting an evaluative look over Steve's own unnaturally bulging breastbone. "After a day or so, people begin to get the sensation that their bones are about to break through their skin. The pain, I'm told, is excruciating." Jung-Hwa licked his lips, as though the thought of someone else's excruciating pain was incredibly delicious. "I would imagine you are feeling pretty uncomfortable right now, too." He paused, expecting an answer, but Steve stubbornly refused to oblige.

Disappointed, the Korean straightened out, his mouth twisted in an angry scowl. "Very well, Commander. I can see that you are not yet ready to be reeducated. I will return in one day. We'll see if you are more willing to cooperate by then." With that he turned around and walked out the door without giving his prisoner a second look.

Left once again in the cold semi-darkness of his prison, Steve closed his eyes, letting out a pained, tired sigh. In the deathly silence surrounding him, he could have sworn he heard his partner's exasperated reproof, _"Cooperate, you moron! Is it too much to ask that you stay in one piece long enough for us to find you?"_

"I'll try, Danny. I'll try..."

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

Review? Pretty please? :)


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N** Thank you, thank you, thank you to all of you who are still sticking with the story. A warning: These next couple of chapters are going to be darker with mention of torture and death (not of any major characters). Keep in mind that the place that Steve was taken to is a very dark, horrifying place. No sunshiny, rosy scenes - not until our SEAL gets rescued (not if I want to stay realistic). So I hope you can bear with me for a little while longer.

* * *

><p>Chapter 6<p>

**With the scarf that my love gave me**

**I'll bandage up my mortal wound**

**Then I'll talk to you, Black Raven,**

**Listen to me, if you would**

The suffocatingly hot and rain-soaked Korean summer slowly morphed into a much cooler, dry autumn with cold and clear, sunny days and miserable, frigid nights. And soon the first echoes of winter reached their mountainside camp, frosting it over with their icy breath.

Minutes, hours, days, months - all blended into one long, miserable, monotonous blur. Rise before the break of dawn. Then - mine work: arduous, back-breaking, using nothing but crude tools and bare hands. Then late in the evening, when the prisoners were practically falling down from exhaustion and could barely move one foot in front of the other, they got their first break and their only meal of the day - salted water with just a smidgeon of rice. Then followed two hours of ideological reeducation, where, dizzy with hunger and fatigue, the prisoners had to memorize the codes of ethics by the Great Leader Kim Il-sung or be deprived of sleep and whatever meager food they were given. And, finally, the few blissful hours of the oblivion of sleep on a cold cement floor with a tattered, smelly, flea-infested piece of rag for a blanket.

Steve dragged himself onward with the rest day after day. It has been ages, it seems, since he had given his agreement to begin reeducation, to put an end to the unbearable torture. Ages since semi-conscious and delirious from the pain he was thrown into a barrack filled with bald-headed, half-starved, rag-clothed specters. Ages since the guard that was attached to their barrack pulled him up by the collar and hauled him, still barely conscious, out into the yard with the rest of his group.

Steve had hope back then. Improbable, crazy hope. As improbable and crazy as was the last rescue that his team, his ohana had pulled off for him. That hope kept him sane in the midst of the insanity that surrounded him, made it possible for him to endure the exhausting, accident-plagued work, the all too frequent beatings, the constant near-starvation that had him follow the lead of his Korean barrack mates and seek out the occasional unfortunate rats, snakes and even pig slop, the revolting scenes of abuse and torture he witnessed and experienced himself on an almost daily basis.

But days turned into months. Long, harrowing months. And gradually Steve's hope began to wane. He no longer strained to hear the familiar thumping sound of helicopter blades chopping through the air, no longer found himself looking up at the sky in the hope of seeing its familiar long-tailed shape gliding over the mountains on its way toward him.

No rescue was coming. He knew that now with all the certainty of a man condemned. His friends have exhausted every avenue in attempting to find him, Steve was sure of it. But they didn't have anything to go on, no leads. Wo Fat didn't leave them any; Steve was sure of that, too. And by now his ohana has likely come to terms with the fact he was gone, just as he was coming to terms with the fact that he was never coming back.

And so he did the only thing he could to protect himself from the pain of bitter disillusionment - he shut down. Clamped down viciously on hope, stamping it out along with any and all thoughts of home. Hawaii with its intense, warm blue of the ocean, soft sands and brilliant greens, and his friends, his newfound family, who had seeped into his blood and soul and become as vital to him as the very air he breathed, were gone. They existed now only in his dreams - the haunting, twisted memories that sliced into his heart, leaving behind raw, bleeding wounds.

Like a tree, whose roots have been cut off, he begun to wither on the inside, losing that golden spark of defiance that set him apart from everyone else.

Kee Jung-Hwa was thrilled with the change, attributing it undoubtedly to the relentless, endless, brain-numbing propaganda that Steve was force-fed from the moment he first regained consciousness after his "pigeon" torture. Jung-Hwa's excitement was such, in fact, that to show his appreciation for Steve's submission, as he saw it, he convinced the guard to let the American take the weekly progress report to the commandant's office.

The privilege was great, indeed. For a few brief and glorious minutes, the prisoner who was lucky enough to be afforded such a task, could escape the cold and drudgery of the quarry and relish in the heavenly comfort of a well-lit, heated building, smooth wooden floors with soft woolen rugs that they were not allowed to step on and the intoxicating, mouth-watering smell of real food. Only those deemed trustworthy and "reformable" were lucky enough to be able to enjoy that experience. And many of his barrack-mates watched Steve with open envy, as he walked to the door with a large envelope tucked under his arm.

Steve, however, couldn't care less. Numbly he made his way across the frost-crusted ground, shivering slightly as the biting December wind sliced at his unprotected skin.

The guard at the command building gave him a long, suspicious look, his rifle angling threateningly toward Steve's body. In response, Steve pulled out the envelope, waving it briefly in the air. "For the commandant."

Satisfied, the guard nodded and stepped aside, letting him by.

The first thing that Steve noticed once he pulled open the heavy metal door was the warmth. The wave of warm air that collided with his frozen, numbed body was almost uncomfortably painful as he only just became aware of just how cold he actually was. Shivering wildly now, he waited until his body became a bit more accustomed to the drastic change and he was able to relax into the warmth that surrounded him. Another guard approached him and signaled for him to follow. He led Steve into a small foyer that ended at a massive wooden door. Wordlessly taking Steve's envelope the guard motioned for him to stay and walked over to the door and disappeared on the other side.

Left to his own devices, feeling drowsy from the heat, Steve looked around for a place to sit down. Suddenly, his eyes fell on a delicately-framed full-length mirror that hung on the opposite wall. His feet moved despite himself, as he crossed the few steps that separated him from the mirror and stood frozen in shock and disgust, staring at the unfamiliar person reflected back at him.

The skeletal-thin frame underneath baggy, tattered, blood and filth covered clothing; the crudely shaved head crisscrossed with ugly oozing scrapes; the hollow, sunken cheeks; the long arched scar above his left eyebrow; and the eyes - pale and empty, the color of old, faded jeans - a bleak, apathetic color. Was that really him?

Steve shuddered, revolted by the sight. Slowly, as if in a dream, he reached out his hand, tracing the emaciated figure in the mirror before him. A crooked, bitter smile twisted his lips. _"Danny, man, if only you could see me now... Pathetic"_

The blue eyes grew cold, chapped bloodless lips curling in disgust, and he stepped back, squaring his shoulders as much as his aching muscles would allow. _This had to stop._ _He was a goddamn SEAL, not a meek, walking corpse. If he was meant to die in this place, then he might as well die like a SEAL - go out with a bang and take as many of his jailers out with him as he could._

The guard came back, and Steve was escorted back to the door, where the second armed guard was waiting outside. The former SEAL tensed in anticipation, his senses tingling with adrenaline and the nearness of danger. Hands curling into fists, he was about to pounce on the closest guard, when a sharp, high-pitched scream pierced the morning air.

Startled, his momentum hopeless lost, Steve turned abruptly in the direction of the sound. What he saw made his blood run cold.

A little girl - couldn't have been more than seven or eight years old - lay writhing on the frost-bitten ground, her hands raised protectively above her head, while a big German shepherd towered over her, snapping its sharp teeth as it fought to reach the girl's throat. At some distance away the two guards, who have set the dog at the poor child, stood laughing at the girl's unadulterated horror, shouting out bets on how long it would take the animal to rip the child to pieces.

The little girl, her skinny hands bleeding from the effort of trying to fend off the beast, screamed again - a desperate, pitiful cry for help, she knew wasn't coming, and Steve exploded into action. Jumping forward before either of the guards had a chance to react, he dashed over to the struggling tangle of child and beast and grabbed for the animal's throat.

Had he been in his best form, his four-legged opponent would not have stood a chance. As it was, however, the animal managed to twist around, sinking its fangs into its attacker's arm. Steve bit back a cry of pain, tightening his arms around the strong, furry neck, putting every bit of his meager strength into his hold, until the dog ceased struggling in his grasp.

Drained and breathless, he released the now dead animal, turning his attention to the frightened child.

"It's alright. You're alright," he managed, reaching his hand for her, but she shrunk back, her small tear-stained face twisted with horror, as she stared at something above Steve's shoulder.

Frowning, he began to turn to identify the reason for her fear. He barely had time to register the blur of a brown uniform above him, when a sharp pain exploded above his temple, sending him sprawled onto the ground.

His vision swimming, he blinked hazily up at the row of rifles aimed with deadly precision at his unprotected head.

"A very bad move, Commander. Very bad move," Jung-Hwa's voice carried to him through the fog of semi-consciousness, and Steve squinted, trying to get the political commissar's face to swim into focus. "I had such high hopes for you, but it is evident that you still refusing to be properly reeducated." Jung-Hwa gave an exaggerated sigh. "No matter. You will now be given your punishment for disrupting the guards' work." He nodded to one of the guards at his side. "And the girl will be getting hers."

A shot rang out, and Steve screamed in horrified anguish as the child fell lifeless to the ground beside him. Pushing himself upright, ignoring the nauseating spike in his headache, he tried in vain to reach for the Korean's throat, only to be thrown roughly back down.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you, you son of a bitch!" he vowed hoarsely, even as the guards dragged him over to a large pole that stood in the center of the compound. Seconds later he was tied to the two metal rings that hung on either side of the pole, his back turned toward his jailers.

"Goodbye, Commander," Jung-Hwa responded impassively, motioned for the guards to begin and walked away.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N  
><strong>Sorry it took me so long to post this. I'm having fewer and fewer opportunities to write lately (so not good...)

Thank you all so much for the reviews and the favorites and the alerts. I've been terrible with responses the last few times. I'm really-really sorry. Please believe me that all of your comments are received with a great deal of appreciation and gratitude. I'm thrilled every time I see a new note in my inbox. So thank you, thank you, thank you! For sticking with the story so far, for not getting too freaked out by the subject matter and my slow updates :) And I once again promise to strive for improvement as far as my feedback response goes.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

**Fly, Black Raven, to my hometown**

**Find my dear mother and**

**Tell her that her son has perished**

**In defense of Motherland**

"Do you think he's still alive?" Kono's voice, timid and shaky, carried to him from the doorway, breaking his forced concentration.

_The damned question... _This question has been on his mind since that fateful night when he found out that Steve was missing; the night that his life turned into a never-ending agony of not knowing.

Danny tried pushing the question away with a loud and emphatically confident 'yes'; shoving it deep inside a dusty, cobweb-covered nook of his mind, reserved for things that are never meant to see the light of day. Yet the more time went by, the more the question persisted, dragging doubt along.

Doubt that grew like cancer, invading every cell, every organ, until he found himself struggling to breathe. Until the only way he could get through the day was by forcefully burying his mind in something, anything that kept it from wandering back to the thoughts of his partner.

He clung to cases like a drowning man to a straw, knowing full well that if he let himself relax even for a second, the haunting question will once again rise up from the depths of his mind and pull him under.

_Dammit, Kono!_

He rubbed his dry, gritty eyes, letting out a deliberately irritated sigh. "Now really isn't a good time, Kono."

The young Hawaiian folded her arms protectively across her slim frame, a deep frown creasing her smooth features. "When is it going to be a good time for you, huh Danny?" she retorted, suddenly angry. "You've been ducking this question for months now. You've been ducking Chin and me for months! When are you-"

"When am I WHAT, Kono?" he stood sharply, letting his chair fall back with a loud clatter. "Gonna accept the fact that Steve is gone? Admit to myself that I failed my best friend?"

Kono shook her head wordlessly in response, pushing herself away from the wall and letting her arms drop to her sides in one fluid motion. "You didn't fail him, Danny. You've been running yourself ragged tracking down every possible and impossible lead. I don't think there's any stone left unturned on this entire island."

"I should have done more," the blond detective insisted harshly, running a frustrated hand through his already tousled hair, only to slam it forcefully against his unsuspecting desk. "I should have been there!"

"And then what?" Kono countered, choosing to ignore the unmistakable wince of pain that twisted the smaller man's features. "Best case scenario: you would have been knocked unconscious right along with Steve and left behind at the house, and we'd still have no idea where Steve was. Worst case: you would have tried to put up a fight and gotten yourself or both of you killed. Either way we'd be no better off than we are now. And Steve would-" She paused as her voice gave out, biting down hard on her lower lip to keep its traitorous trembling under control.

"Joe said his connections might be of help," she said finally in a tight, low voice. "We have to hope that he finds something. We don't have any other choice."

"Joe!" he snorted bitterly, absentmindedly rubbing his injured hand. "Joe's been gone for months now. No word, no nothing."

"He left the island, Danny," Kono tried, "Wherever he is, he may not be able to contact us."

"I don't care if he's in freaking outer space!" he retorted, his hands slicing through the air like a pair of sharp chopping knives. "Would it kill him to pick up the phone once in a while, drop a postcard in the mail? You know, at this point, I'd even take a quick phone call from Wo Fat - a quick, 'Hey, your buddy's corpse is at the bottom of the ocean. Here are the coordinates. Go pick him-"

"DANNY!" The horrified gasp brought him up short, and the Jersey native nearly bit his tongue at the shocked, anguished expression on the ghostly pale face of his young colleague.

"God, Kono, I'm sorry, really. I didn't-... I didn't mean it. It's just, my head right now is about as scary a place to be as the Super SEAL's." He sighed, turning back to his desk, and bent down to pick up his fallen chair. "Look," he continued, the angry energy of his rant replaced with bone-deep exhaustion, "Gracie's birthday is this weekend. Rachel is taking her out on Saturday, I get her Sunday. I want you and Chin to come.

Running a shaking hand through her hair, Kono nodded, watching him with a mixture of wariness and sorrow.

"Are... are you sure it won't be better if it's just the two of you?"

"No, no," Danny objected, shaking his head emphatically. "Grace would definitely want all of us there." _"Especially Steve_,_"_ he thought miserably.

Judging by the broken expression in the tear-filled dark eyes that met his, Kono was thinking the same thing.

H50-H50-H50

"You ready for your cake, Monkey?"

Poking her head out from behind a piece of fancily decorated lavender-pink plywood that was soon to become the back wall of her brand new Barbie Size dollhouse - the elite Five-0 task force, led by this diminutive pigtailed ball of chirpy energy, has been sweating away working on its assembly for the past hour or so -, Grace nodded vigorously in response.

"All right then," Danny perked up, getting up off the floor with a bit more enthusiasm than was probably warranted and wincing slightly as his troubled knee creaked in protest at spending so much time crouched in such an adult-unfriendly position. "I'll get everything set up. You, two," he added, pointing at his hapless colleagues, "try to get as much glue off the birthday girl as possible - I don't want her getting stuck to the cake."

The newly-minted 9-year-old giggled at the idea and dashed off to the bathroom, thus missing the dirty looks that her two older playmates were giving her father.

A good fifteen minutes later the trio ambled into the kitchen and stood before the apron-clad smaller detective, while the latter looked them over with a critical eye.

"Well, doesn't look too bad," he drawled out finally. "Although that stain in the middle of your pretty new dress probably means that I'll be hearing lots of flattering remarks from your mother."

"It's okay, Danno," the little girl assured him. "I'll tell her it wasn't your fault."

"Thanks, Monkey. Very kind of you," Danny smirked, gesturing for her to come closer to the table. "Now get to work, kiddo, before these candles melt into the cake. Trust me, wax isn't as tasty as it might look."

Grace didn't need to be asked twice. Eyes alight with excitement, she hopped up on a chair next to the festively decorated table, smiling brightly at the nine dolphin-shaped candles that adorned the blue-colored ocean themed cake.

"Make a wish, Gracie," Kono urged her, and the girl nodded, closing her eyes in concentration.

A wistful, serious expression came over her delicate features. A second later she took a big lungful of air and blew out all the wax dolphins in one long breath to the joyful cheers of her audience.

Danny Williams, the proudly beaming father, pulled his offspring into a tight hug. "Happy Birthday, Sweetheart," he whispered, kissing the top of her tousled, pigtailed head.

A pair of small skinny arms wrapped themselves around his neck in response. "Thanks, Danno."

"What did you wish for, Gracie?" Chin asked, walking up to the pair.

A doorbell rang before Grace had a chance to reply, and the little girl tore herself away from her father and rushed to the door, squealing "It's him! It's him!"

The three adults stared quizzically at each other for all of three heartbeats, watching as the 9-year-old practically bounced with impatience and excitement, as she pulled the door open. And then, suddenly, the ebullient smile disappeared from her face like the sun behind a dark storm cloud. Frowning uncomprehendingly at the newcomer, she turned to her father, throwing him a look of deep betrayal. A fraction of a second later, her face crumpled, tears springing from her expressive brown eyes. And before any of them had a chance to react she bolted crying down the hall to the bedroom.

Another split second later Danny took off after her. The two remaining members of the Five-0 task force were left staring dumbfoundedly at the flustered blubbery whale of a man that stood in the doorway, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot.

"Did I come at a bad time?" Kamekona inquired timidly, moving a brightly packaged box to the forefront of his large frame. "I heard da little one was having a birthday party, so I-"

"It's... fine, Kamekona," Chin responded distractedly, looking in the direction that Danny and Grace had disappeared to. "I'm sure it's not you." _"But I'd sure as hell like to know what that was all about," _he thought in puzzlement.

H50-H50-H50

"Sweetheart," cautiously Danny approached the shaking, crying bundle on the bed. "What's the matter? Tell Danno what's wrong, please."

Sniffling loudly, the 9-year-old lifted her tear-stained face off the blanket and threw herself into her father's arms with a desperate sob.

Thoroughly frightened now, Danny held the trembling girl close to his chest, rubbing calming circles on her back. "What happened, Gracie?"

"It... wasn't... him," she managed finally, sobbing against his shirt. "I... I wished for him to come a-and it w-wasn't him..."

"Who?" he asked softly, somehow already suspecting what her answer would be.

"Uncle S-steve..."

"Oh, Monkey..." Danny closed his eyes, icy desperation clawing at his heart like a deranged banshee. _What was he supposed to say to that? How was he supposed to reassure his baby girl, when his own insides were tied into a Gordian knot and there was no Alexander the Great nearby to cut through it and set him free?_

A quiet knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see Chin Ho Kelly poke his head into the room.

"Hey, Danny, I just got off the phone with Joe. He's back in town. Says we need to meet."

_"Oh, dear God, let him have some good news..."_

H50-H50-H50

Night descended on Yodok. Life in the camp has stilled, frozen in the cold blackness. The moon splattered its pale light over the bleak landscape, and twisting eerily in the feeble moonlight, the giant snowflakes kept falling, landing gently and soundlessly onto the hard, icy ground, like a delicately woven white blanket attempting to cover up the ugliness and horror of the previous day.

Hanging limply by a pair of iced-over manacles, his half-naked, abused body having no choice but to press against the cold, hard surface of the pole, Steve McGarrett drifted on the edge of unconsciousness, his mind cruelly replaying for him his latest failure - his inability to protect the little girl who couldn't have been any older than Danny's daughter.

His torturers have walked away long ago, leaving his back a mess of hideous, bloody welts. His body, too numb, too frozen, no longer even had the energy to shiver. Beyond exhaustion, beyond pain, he was merely waiting for the relief of death, but stubbornly it refused to come. And so he hung there, as the snow fell slowly onto his raw back and shoulders, concealing the ugly traces of violence under its cold, indifferent whiteness.

A single tear slid out from underneath the frost-covered eyelashes. A tear of helplessness and grief for the one little girl he failed to safe, and for another little girl - thousands of miles away - whom he will never see again. And gradually Grace's delicate face was the only thing remaining in his fevered, semi-conscious mind's eye. The cracked, blue-tinged lips trembled slightly, releasing a breath of a single sorrow-filled apology - virtually inaudible in the uncaring stillness: "S-so... sorry, Gracie..."

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><p>TBC<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

A/N This chapter took me a bit longer - I ended up rewriting it several times, because it just wouldn't seem right. I eventually settled on this version. It is mostly focused on Steve but through the eyes of another. Hopefully it makes sense the way I've written it. As always, I am looking forward to your thoughts.

And a big, giant thank you to everyone for reading, for keeping this humble writer happy with your reviews, and favorites, and alerts!

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><p>Chapter 8<p>

**Tell my sweetheart that she's free now**

**That I married someone else**

**We were wed by sword and arrow**

**Streamside in a pristine field.**

**Here comes death, my new intended,**

**O Black Raven, I'm all yours.**

Joe White walked into their office the following morning, gloomy and dark as a winter storm. His face, drawn and pale, sported a yellowish apple-sized bruise on his right cheekbone and a neat row of butterfly stitches under his left eye.

"I see you've made some new friends," Danny commented dryly, his arms crossed tightly over his chest to keep them from shaking.

"Have you found Steve?" Kono cut in nervously. "Do you know where he is?"

Instead of a reply, the older man pulled out a folded printout of an aerial photo, unfolded it and placed it gingerly on the desk before the detectives. "This here," he said in a tight, controlled voice, pointing at a small dot in the middle of what looked to be a row of mountains, "is Kwan-li-so number 15. We obtained credible information that Steve might be held there."

"How credible?" Chin asked carefully.

"From Wo Fat's personal pilot. Shellburn's people managed to track him down a couple of weeks ago." A harsh, sinister look appeared in the faded blue eyes, and the former Commander added with a mixture of venom and disgust, "We made him talk. He said he dropped McGarrett off at Yodok a little over 5 months ago."

"Shit." Chin's quiet curse, so uncharacteristic for this extraordinarily calm and composed man, made the hairs on the back of Danny's neck stand up.

"What is it?" he asked nervously, trying to catch the Hawaiian's eye. "Chin? What am I missing?"

Chin Ho Kelly threw a quick look at the former Navy man, as if expecting him to say something, but the older man remained silent, his lips pressed together into a thin white line. And so with a reticent sigh he turned to face the troubled questioning stares of his two colleagues.

"Kwan-li-so are penal labor camps in North Korea... A few years back I met a guy who was a prisoner in one of them. He was... It's a bad place."

"How bad are we talking?" Danny asked, swallowing thickly against a steadily growing lump of fear.

"Forced hard labor, starvation, torture, prisoner abuse." It was Joe who answered, his injured cheek twitching nervously as he spoke. "The rate of survival there is ... well, low."

The Jersey native stared at him, fighting to keep his resurging despair under control. The words "torture" and "North Korea" boring into his mind, twisting and colliding cruelly with the disturbing images from before - of bloodstained metal cuffs hanging ominously from the ceiling, of the dirty cement floor spattered with splotches of crimson, of Jenna's lifeless corpse lying in a discarded heap by the wall, and of Steve - bound and bloodied in the back of Wo Fat's truck, looking up at him with confusion and disbelief in the pained blue eyes.

_They got there just in the nick of time. And Steve had only been missing for a few days. Not months. What if this time they are already too late? What if... NO!_ he cut off the thought sharply, stomping it out with desperate brutality. _Not gonna happen. They were bringing Steve home and that was that._

Digging his white-knuckled fingers into the edge of the desk, he nodded tightly at White. "When do we leave?"

H50-H50-H50

The loud metallic clang of the door jerked him out of his troubled, fitful slumber, and Kwang Sun Jhi shifted carefully from his spot on the floor to get a better view of the entrance, taking care that his wakefulness went unnoticed. The bloodshot, bleary eyes watched as two guards stepped heavily into their cell, dragging a half-naked, snow-covered body between them.

_"The American. Finally." _

Moments later the body was dumped unceremoniously onto the cell's floor, and the guards retreated noisily locking the door behind them. Kwan Sun waited a little longer out of precaution until the booted footsteps stopped echoing in the empty hallway. Once he was certain the jailers were gone, he pulled himself up on his knees, grabbed the rag he used as a blanket and crawled quietly over to the American's still form.

Dawn was still a few hours away, and in the murky darkness of early morning Kwan Sun couldn't tell if the man before him was still breathing. Gingerly he reached out his hand, pressing it against the other man's throat. _"He's too cold!"_ He waited patiently, holding his own breath, until he felt a faint slow beating under his chapped, weather-beaten fingers. _"Thank God!"_

"Is he dead?"

The quiet words pulled him up short just as he was about to place his blanket over the man's naked shoulders, and he turned, glaring into the semi-darkness of the cell at another sleepy pair of eyes.

"Go back to sleep, Hyo," he hissed and was about to return to his task when a thought struck him and he glanced back over his shoulder as his awakened cellmate. "Wait, toss me your blanket."

He felt more than saw the other man's eyes widen in confusion. "Are you out of your mind?"

Kwan Sun huffed out his disappointment, wrapping his blanket tightly and gently around the ice-cold motionless body.

"Why do you bother?" his cellmate persisted. "If he's not dead yet, he will be in a couple of days if not hours. You know they won't be feeding him anymore. Remember Hyun Ki?"

_Of course he remembered. Another young man who had remained too defiant for the camp commander's taste. The kid was worked to exhaustion, beaten to a bloody pulp and then tossed into their cell just like the American. After the beating, the guards took away his meager rations, letting him slowly starve to death. Kwan Sun could do nothing to help him back then - too afraid to do anything to bring the guards' anger down upon him and, by extension, his little girl. So he tried to be on his best behavior. A model prisoner. Not that it did him any good. _

"I will do what I can for him," Kwan Sun replied simply. "He's a good man."

"Then you'll end up in his place, you old fool," Hyo grumbled, nevertheless tossing him the rag that was tangled between his feet.

Kwan Sun accepted the blanket with a grateful nod, muttering under his breath, "I have nothing left to lose."

Three more shaved heads came up off the floor, awakened by their whispered exchange. Three more blankets were tossed their way. Kwan Sun picked them up wordlessly, tipping his head in silent thanks, and hurried to wrap them around his new charge.

There were no more words. None were needed. Every one of the five awake cell residents knew full well the kind of trouble they would be in if the guards decided to check on them within the next few minutes. Every one of them in a moment of daring insanity and reckless defiance chose not to care.

For once they thought not about protecting their own lives but about the foreigner that they had by some mutual telepathic agreement decided to save. In the ensuing quiet they watched and listened intently for any change in the condition of the unconscious man before them. Waiting. Hoping.

The change came a few long minutes later. A slight tremble - so light that it was barely noticeable in their dim surroundings - ran through the rag-covered frame. It passed and was soon followed by another and then another in quick succession, until the prone man began shivering in earnest.

"That's it, that's it, come on," Kwan Sun urged, placing a cautious hand on the American's shoulder. "Keep coming back."

The shivering abated slightly, and the injured man shifted under his touch, an involuntary groan escaping his lips as this first conscious movement brought pain back to the forefront of his awareness. The pale eyelids fluttered weakly, cracking open a mere slit.

Kwan Sun shifted also, moving so as to be in the man's line of sight. "Welcome back," he whispered softly. "Steve?"

The man blinked - slowly, sluggishly, the pained blue eyes fighting to focus on their bleary surroundings.

"D-dan-ny?..."

The soft, pleading whisper died in mid-breath, and Kwan Sun could have sworn he'd actually seen the moment that the desperate flicker of hope in the other man's eyes died as well, shattered against the cruel reality of consciousness.

"I am Kwan Sun," he offered almost apologetically, and the American closed his eyes briefly in acknowledgement.

"I kn-n-n-know... s-s-sor-ry," he managed between wildly chattering teeth.

Attempting to shift again to relieve the painful stress on his abused back, the foreigner suddenly became aware of several layers of fabric that were swaddling him, restricting his movements. Twisting slightly to get a better look, he stared confused at the several dirt-covered rags wrapped around his torso. Realization dawned, and the man slid his gaze back to the Korean. "Wh-why?"

Kwan Sun frowned, mildly offended. _Was his gesture of kindness really that improbable?_ But then he remembered the glares of envy-born hostility that he and his cellmates were directing the foreigner's way as the latter was sent to the commandant's office, and he understood. A shadow of regret passed over his features. _How petty, how cruel he was. And this man, this stranger risked his life to..._ He shook his head, swallowing down his remorse like a bitter potion.

"The little girl you saved... Yun Hee," Kwan Sun began quietly, his voice catching on the name that he will never again get to use, "she was my daughter." Upon hearing a sharp intake of breath, he looked down, dismayed at the tortured expression he saw in the pained blue eyes.

"I'm s-s-so... s-so... s-s-sor-ry," the injured man whispered, his shivering abating only slightly.

"No," the Korean shook his head with vehemence. "What you did for her, I couldn't. I was a... coward. You... you protected her. You...," he closed his eyes briefly, fighting to control the onslaught of painful memories. "Thank you," he breathed out finally, meeting his surprised, clouded gaze with a steady one of his own.

A soft, but insistent cough came from the far wall behind him, and Kwan Sun nodded sharply over his shoulder. "Yes, yes, I know." Turning back to the American he added with a renewed sense of urgency, his face - a mask of regret, "Listen, it's almost dawn. The guards will be back soon. I'll... I'll need to take those blankets back."

The American, Steve, blinked tiredly in response. "I und-derstand. ... Th-thank you."

H50-H50-H50

A week has passed, and Hyo's dark prediction seemed to be coming true. The guards did not allow the American blankets or food, and Steve's condition deteriorated very rapidly. For a first few days Kwan Sun managed to sneak him a few sips of his own rice water, however little help it was, but soon even that became impossible. The American's body, heretofore consumed by cold, was now ravaged by fever, and he could no longer react to Kwan Sun's attempts to help him. He no longer even appeared to be aware of his surroundings. Shaken violently by soul-wrenching cough, tossing about weakly, as he fought the agonizing fire raging within him, the man cried out faintly, calling for some mysterious "Danno".

The weak, desperate calls interspersed by bouts of wet, suffocating cough were almost impossible for Kwan Sun to bear. Impossible because he knew with bleak, undeniable certainty that this man was dying. Impossible because he could do nothing to stop it. _Just like with Hyun Ki._

Sighing heavily, he crawled over to the shaking man and ripping a piece of his own ragged shirt wiped it gently at the foreigner's flushed, sweat-covered face. "Easy, Steve," he whispered, eyes dark with regret. "Easy."

"Leave him be," Hyo's voice carried to him in semi-darkness, and Kwan Sun pursed his lips in frustration, fighting to hold his tongue. "He'll be dead by morning, and we can bring his body in for another bowl of food."

Kwan Sun opened his mouth to object to Hyo's callous words, but stopped, dropping his head in helpless despair. Hyo was right. No matter how much it pained him to admit it. The American was too weak and too ill to survive another day. Sunrise will likely see his death, and Kwan Sun was powerless to change it.

He rose stiffly to go back to his own dirty spot by the wall, when a strange new sound reached his ears. The regular thumping sound seemed vaguely familiar, and soon Kwan Sun's eyes widened in recognition.

"Helicopter?" he mouthed to his equally surprised cellmate. _Who could be flying here in the middle of the night?_

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><p><em><em>So now what...?


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N Please excuse my long silence. Too much work - no time to play with my favorite characters. This chapter is not as long as the last few, but I wanted to get something out before I get slammed with work again. Hope you like it.**

**And a big HUGE thanks to all the reviewers! Please keep those coming - I need them like water, like breath, like rain (and I think I'm losing my mind 'cause I just slipped into a LeAnn Rimes song without even realizing it - geesh...) **

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><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

**Tell my sweetheart that she's free now**

**That I married someone else**

**We were wed by sword and arrow**

**Streamside in a pristine field.**

**Here comes death, my new intended,**

**O Black Raven, I'm all yours.**

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><p>Danny Williams hated the night. Every single bad thing in his life, it seems, happened to him at night. It was nighttime when Rachel walked out of his life, taking his Gracie with her and throwing him into a six-months-long maelstrom of catatonic stupor and drunken self-pity. It was nighttime when his baby brother climbed aboard a small airplane, hugging a suitcase filled with unlaundered money - running away from justice and his family. It was nighttime when Steve was arrested for the murder he didn't commit. Nighttime again when he disappeared all those months ago.<p>

And now flying through this cold North Korean night, Danny found himself pleading silently with the darkness outside. _"Let us find him. Alive. Please. So I can stop loathing you. So I can stop dreading you. Please. Just let us find him."_

He didn't ask questions. Not about a set of identical military issue winter jackets handed to them upon take-off. Not about a band of armed-to-the-teeth, ferocious-looking Japanese thugs that joined the more familiar faces of SEAL Team 9. Not about the state-of-the-art, stealth-equipped Black Hawk - a far cry from the decrepit chicken coop of a chopper that flew them into North Korea the last time. He didn't need to know. Didn't care who was going to get them there or how. The only thing he cared about knowing was when they were going to get to Steve, and what they were going to find when they got there.

"Listen, guys," Joe spoke up suddenly, tearing him away from his dark musings, "our ETA is about 10 minutes. We have night and surprise on our side. But we should not be expecting a warm welcome." He surveyed the three detectives before him, his gaze intent. "Wait till my guys secure the perimeter. Keep your heads low. Stay sharp. And be ready for action."

Instead of a response, Danny pulled his jacket tighter around him, curling his fingers around the cold barrel of the gun in his lap. _He'll be ready._

H50-H50-H50

The wheels of the helicopter touched down softly on the snow-covered ground, and the SEALs and the Japanese-whoever-they-were jumped out, their rifles at the ready. Gunshots shattered the quiet stillness, and Danny cringed, his mind flashing back to the convoy of trucks they ambushed in the deep North Korean jungle. The memory brought with it a sense of urgency so strong that it nearly took his breath away. Scrambling to his feet, clutching the rifle as if it were his only lifeline, he stumbled gracelessly out the open door.

Night slammed into him with oppressive viciousness - cold and drearily depressing, like an abandoned crypt. He swallowed harshly, his eyes wide and desperate as they roamed over the desolate, snow-covered landscape and rows after rows of identical drab barracks, faceless and indistinguishable in the dismal blackness.

With a fierceness of a famished vampire, the night has sucked out what little color this place had, leaving behind an empty lifeless carcass. Gloomy and despondent like death. _Death_. The comparison felt like a sharp kick in the gut, and Danny nearly doubled over under the pressure.

Ahead of him he could see the large grey silhouettes of Joe's motley crew of mercenaries, as they cut furiously through the dark stillness, quickly, savagely and efficiently rounding up the camp guards. The latter, dazed and drowsy from sleep, put up virtually no resistance, letting their nighttime assailants herd them toward the center of the camp like a herd of sluggish sheep.

Danny's eyes slid to the barracks once more. _ Steve was in there. Somewhere. Had to be._ _Then why the hell was he standing around here wasting time, when he should be out there looking - searching every damn one of them room by room if he had to?_

He was about to move, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a shadow that crept cautiously off to his side, trying to avoid the general commotion. With a speed that would have made his Navy partner proud, Danny jumped toward it, his hand shooting out to grab a fistful of a coarse brown uniform. _A guard_. _Well, maybe he can get me some answers._

Pounding the North Korean forcefully against the hard, unforgiving side of the chopper, he ground out: "Steve? Where's Steve? The American? Where is he?"

The man shook his head, gaping at him with fear and confusion in the dark eyes. _Damn, but he wasn't ready to give up like that!_ Lifting his weapon to the Korean's eye level, he repeated, his voice cold and dangerously low, "Where. Is. The. American?"

Whether it was the rifle pushed roughly against his forehead or the deadly look in the steel of his assailant's eyes, but the Korean relented - his shaking hand reaching out, pointing above Danny's shoulder to a drab peeling structure just a few feet away from where their helicopter had landed.

In the next second, the Korean was dropped unceremoniously onto the ground, as Danny took off at a dead run in the direction he was shown, not even bothering to check whether his two teammates were behind him.

Danny was flying. The knowledge of his partner's whereabouts gave him hope, wild hope that carried him clear across the snow-covered yard, had him bursting furiously through the barrack doors like an enraged bull. Hesitating only briefly at the site of a long poorly-lit hallway with rows of padlocked metal doors on each side, he grabbed his rifle and began running from door to door, knocking down the locks and shouting his partner's name at the top of his lungs.

Ten rooms later he got a response.

"American. Here."

It wasn't Steve. It didn't sound anything like Steve. A raspy and heavily accented voice. But at this point Danny didn't care. Neither did Chin or Kono.

The door flew open, slamming loudly against the opposite wall, and the damp ice-cold blackness shrunk back a bit, cowering before three piercing beams of flashlights. A slight, skeletal-thin figure in tattered clothing shrunk back too, a dirty twig of an arm rising shakily to shield the eyes that were too accustomed to the darkness.

"Steve?" Danny called out again, his flashlight gliding over the huddled bony figures by the far wall in vain hope to discern a familiar face.

"Here," the skinny Korean repeated when no answer was forthcoming. His twig arm fell away from his face, pointing urgently to a shapeless pile of rags in the dark corner. "American. Steve. Here."

Asif to emphasize that urgency, a series of harsh, wrenching coughs split the charged stillness of the room, and Danny jumped toward the sound, sliding down on his knees next to the rag-covered form.

Two beams of light from his teammates' rifles followed his progress, casting a sharp glow on the crudely shaved head and the deathly pale, spectrally thin face covered with a sickly sheen of sweat. "Geez, Steve...," he shuddered, taking in his friend's nearly unrecognizable features.

Swallowing thickly, Danny leaned forward, placing a gentle hand on the frighteningly gaunt, cough-wracked chest. "Steve? I'm here, Steve. We're all here."

The Korean sat down cautiously beside him, the dark slits watching him carefully. "You Dan-no?"

Startled, Danny whipped his head to the side, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "H-how did you-?"

"Steve... he call for you... every day," the Korean went on, ignoring his question. Shaking his head ruefully, he flicked his gaze back to the injured man. "He not respond to you now. Too sick. ...Dying."

The words hit him hard - a cold, sharp dagger of blame. _Steve had been calling for him. Through God knows what pain and torture, he'd been calling for him, begging for him to come and rescue him from this hell. And now... it was probably already too late. _Despair and guilt wrapped itself around his throat like Jocasta's red scarf, strangling and suffocating. Biting hard on his lower lip to push back the tears that threatened, he glanced once more at the frail form of his friend. _"Dying," the man said. Dying. Dammit, Steve, no! No!_ The last thought ended in an angry growl that bubbled forth from his sandpaper-dry throat. _You're not dying on me, you hear?_ he swore silently to his feverish pallid partner. _Not happening. NOT happening._

Ignoring the concerned stares of his teammates, who hovered nervously beside him, he shifted, pulling himself up on one knee and pushing his rifle out of the way to dangle harmlessly on his back. Moving with as much care and trepidation as a young parent who had just been handed their newborn baby for the very first time, he slid his arms under Steve's shoulders and knees, gently pulling him closer. He tried, tried his damned best to ignore the way Steve's head rolled limp and unresponsive, bumping against his chest, or how he could feel his partner's almost bare bones as they cut sharply into his skin. But as he stood up carefully, cradling his precious cargo, he couldn't stop the tears sprang to his eyes, as he realized just how light that cargo was. Previously so robust and powerfully built, the man now weighed less than an anorexic teenage girl. _God, Steven, what have they done to you?_

He felt Chin's hand on his shoulder - a calm, grounding presence. "He's alive, brah," Kelly reminded him pointedly. "That's more than we could have hoped for."

Danny nodded, forcing down a painful, burning lump. "He's so light, Chin," he mumbled, his voice barely audible and trembling with near defeat. "So light..."

"One thing at a time, brah," Chin's voice stumbled suspiciously into a hoarse whisper, but the hand on Danny's shoulder remained firm. "Let's worry about getting him stateside first."

Wordlessly they made their way back to the helicopter, all of Danny's attention, all of his focus solely on the limp emaciated figure held securely in his arms. Joe White's team was already waiting for them, their weapons trained on the guards on the off-chance that someone in that dazed, shivering bunch would dare to rise up off the snow and decide to stop them.

Joe took a hesitating step toward the trio, his eyes riveted to the unconscious man in Danny's arms. "Here," he said hoarsely, reaching his hands out to Danny, "let me help."

In response, the Jersey native tightened his arms around his partner's still form, glaring murderously at the former Navy Commander as if daring him to try and take away his precious burden. "Get out of my way," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You've done enough."

The older man paled, stepping aside to let Danny pass. Flicking a timid inquiring gaze in Chin's direction and getting a simple shake of the head in response, he nodded grimly, blowing out a long calming breath and letting his command mask fall back into place. "Back on the bird, boys," he bellowed, motioning for his team to get inside, "we're moving out."

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><p><em>TBC (just so there's no confusion next time - I really don't plan on abandoning the fic :-)<em> Let me know your thoughts


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N Thank you for such a wonderful response to my previous chapter! I'm so glad you, guys, are still interested (even with my insanely long silences in-between the updates). I tried to keep my word this time and make the break shorter. Hope you appreciate the effort and not judge the result too harshly (sheepish smile).  
><strong>

**Also, regarding the previous chapter. Several of you expressed concern about the fate of the other prisoners from the camp. I want to assure you that I have not abandoned them. I do have a plan in the works, and all shall be revealed in due time (hopefully, to your satisfaction). Enjoy the chapter, and I hope to hear from you - any and all thoughts and comments are greatly appreciated, as always.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

**We were wed by sword and arrow**

**Streamside in a pristine field.**

**Here comes death, my new intended,**

**O Black Raven, I'm all yours.**

Steve stopped breathing 400 miles away from Oahu, tied to a stretcher on the floor of a goddamned cargo plane, in the middle of the goddamn ocean. And Danny, who was watching his partner like a hawk, growing increasingly alarmed by the bluish tint that shaded his lips, saw the exact moment it happened, the moment Steve's unnaturally bony chest released its last wheezing, tortured breath before going completely, frighteningly still. He must have screamed, because the next moment a SEAL medic was crouching down on the floor beside Steve, forcing his mouth open and pushing a plastic tube down his throat. Working with calm, brisk efficiency, the medic soon had the resuscitation bag attached and began gently forcing air into his patient's overburdened lungs.

Closing his eyes in relief at seeing the resumption, albeit artificial, of the rise and fall of his friend's chest, Danny leaned back in his seat, running a shaky hand over his sweat-covered forehead.

"We'll be in Hickam in about an hour," a rough voice cut into his consciousness, and the blond detective's eyes flew open, meeting the unnervingly calm, emerald-green gaze of the medic. "A chopper will be waiting for us there to take the Commander to Tripler. Commander White has seen to it," the SEAL supplied evenly, his hands locked firmly on the resuscitation bag, maintaining their precise life-saving rhythm.

Danny swallowed, nodding his understanding.

_"Speaking of Joe."_ In the maddening, hurried rush to transfer Steve on board a military cargo plane, so conveniently waiting for them on a secluded runway on the outskirts of Seoul, Danny didn't pay much attention to the fact that neither Joe White nor the Japanese thugs ever made it on board with them. He vaguely remembered Joe say something about staying behind to take care of a few things, but...

"Where **is **Joe?"

In response the medic shook his head, his lips pulled in a grim line. "Classified, sir."

"Figures," Danny hissed in absurd frustration. It didn't matter anyway. Nothing mattered. Just so long as Steve was alive.

Shifting slightly, fingers digging into the edge of the seat beneath him, the Jersey native watched as the medic motioned to one of his teammates, passing the ventilation task over to him, while he grabbed a stethoscope and leaned over the injured former SEAL, listening intently to the abused, unresponsive lungs.

Beside him Kono shifted as well, leaning forward, her long dark strands falling on either side of her face, concealing the wet traitorous marks that tears had traced across her drawn pale cheeks.

"H-how is he?"

The shakiness and fear in her normally cheerful and self-assured voice was so unlike Kono that Danny cringed inwardly, reaching out to cover her tightly clasped trembling hands with one of his own. She glanced at him then, giving him a watery smile that was as tremulous as the rest of her, and Danny's heart clenched at the level of despair he saw reflected in the young woman's eyes. He wondered absently if the same feeling of hopelessness and fear that twisted his own gut into a knot so tight that it made it physically hard for him to breathe also showed through on his face. Judging by the way Kono dropped her gaze, her body growing rigid like an over-tightened guitar spring, it probably did.

"He's hanging in there, Ma'am" the medic responded finally, looping the stethoscope around his neck. "I can't be sure without at least an X-ray, but I suspect the Commander has a case of pneumonia, pretty advanced from what I can tell. And, given his weakened state, his chances for survival are not great." He raised his head, meeting the troubled, tear-filled gaze of the Hawaiian woman. "Sorry, Ma'am."

Kono nodded, a choked sob escaping her lips before she curled them into her mouth, biting down hard enough to draw blood. The hands underneath Danny's trembled in earnest now, and Danny tightened his grip, forcing his own suddenly leaden tongue to move to say something, anything to make this nightmare not seem so real.

"McGarrett's a tough bastard," he managed roughly, putting as much fervor and conviction into his voice as he could muster. "If anyone can pull through, he will." The words of reassurance sounded hollow even to his own ears. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, as long as those words would turn out to be true. _God, Steve, please don't make me a liar._

H50-H50-H50

Vigil /'vɪʤɪl/ _noun:_ a period of keeping awake during the time usually spent asleep, especially to keep watch or pray. (Oxford Dictionaries).

Vigil. Hours turning into days, which, in turn, slowly and inexorably spilled into weeks.

Awake, watching, praying. Sinking into an exhausted sleep and jerking awake in heart-fluttering panic, eyes bloodshot and wild seeking out the motionless form of his partner, yearning for the visual reassurance of his presence.

Waiting. Not daring to leave the room, lest his partner should wake and find himself alone yet again. He won't ever leave him alone anymore. Not EVER.

Kono and Chin were there too. Every day. They would come and they'd wait alongside him. And they would beg him to go home, to take a break. And he would leave. To the bathroom for a quick splash of cold water on his haggard, stubbled face. To the cafeteria for a quick snack and yet another cup of coffee. But not home. Never home. He didn't dare to. It was too far. He couldn't risk it. Not after almost losing him in North Korea. Not after watching him die on the approach to Tripler, as the Medevac hovered above the giant "H" on the life-saving helipad.

_The urgent "I'm losing the heartbeat here! Get this bird down now!" that echoed through the cramped belly of their helicopter. _

_The mad, frantic rush through the wide hospital hallway, following a team of grave-looking nurses, who whisked Steve's stretched behind green-tinted double-doors of the operating room - a threshold which he was not allowed to cross. _

_The wait - long, torturous, nerve-wracking; its morbid, oppressive silence broken only by Kono's occasional, shuddering half-sobs. _

_And then, when the tension within him stretched his nerves raw, tightening them to the point of near-breaking, Steve's doctor came out and the ice of anticipation shifted underneath his feet, plunging him whole into the dark waters of despair. _

He's been treading those waters ever since.

Steve was in a coma. Medically induced, to be sure. The last ditch effort to save someone who was too far gone for the doctor to allow even a modicum of hope to color his grim litany of symptoms. There were signs of repeated torture and abuse that likely culminated in a severe lashing – the deep, ugly, infected welts on Steve's back appeared to be fresher than any of his other injuries. There was malnutrition, starvation really, that weakened his system so severely that it could no longer fight off the infection, the pneumonia. And that disease, once it got into Steve's weak, vulnerable lungs, well, it went to town, gradually developing into a deadly lung infection called the acute respiratory distress system. ARDS.

Danny became very familiar with that term over the past few weeks. Googled it. Read every single article about it he could find. It set up shop in his friend's lungs, filling them up with fluid, making them heavy and stiff. It kept them from expanding properly, preventing them from passing oxygen into the bloodstream. Even with a ventilator there just wasn't enough. And Steve's organs, starved of oxygen, were slowly beginning to shut down. The doctors did the only thing they could – induced a coma to prevent further damage, inserted a chest tube to pump away excess fluid and started him on intensive oxygen therapy. And while they were at it, they also hooked him up to an IV line that snaked along his arm, forcing nutrients, electrolytes and water into his severely emaciated body.

That was two weeks ago. Steve's condition hasn't worsened, as the doctors feared. In fact, he quite stubbornly hung on, and even gradually began to improve. He still looked like death, as far as Danny was concerned, but his doctor seemed rather excited by his patient's progress, even going so far as to express cautious optimism regarding a possible reversal of coma in the near future. In the same breath the doctor suggested that the Jersey detective go home and shower because his nurses were already starting to complain. "You stink, Detective," the medic told him bluntly. "Your friend is better now than he'd been in weeks. I would use this time wisely and take care of yourself a bit. Get some good sleep, take a decent shower, or I'm going to have to start issuing gas masks to my nursing staff."

And Danny listened. Mumbling a silent thanks to whatever gods were responsible for helping his friend step out of the dark waters of Lethe and draw closer to the world of the living, he took the bold risk of actually going home.

H50-H50-H50

Danny returned to the hospital several hours later, feeling more alive and refreshed than he had in weeks. A decent meal, a nice hot shower, a few hours of sleep on a soft comfortable bed, and a cheerful conversation with his daughter, where he was finally able to give his Monkey some positive news about her uncle Steve, did wonders for Danny's mood. He was virtually bouncing, as he walked down the hallway toward his friend's room, Grace's squeal of joy upon hearing the good news still ringing in his ears, pulling his lips into an involuntary smile.

Perhaps that was why he didn't notice the strange looks that the nurses gave him as he passed by their station, or the way their eyes followed his progress with heightened curiosity. He didn't realize something was amiss until he walked into the room and froze at the sight of an unfamiliar cloaked figure hovering above his partner's unconscious form.

A fraction of a second later, he recovered his wits enough to pull his gun out of its holster and, pointing at the stranger's back, barked out, "Put your hands in the air and turn around... slowly."

The stranger froze, his body going rigid with fear and surprise, but remained where he was, bending his head lower to allow the cloak's hood to completely cover his face.

"Now," Danny urged, his voice taking on a dangerous edge, as he pushed further into the room, trying to get around the stranger to get a better look at Steve. Satisfied that his friend did not look worse for wear, he took one step closer to the stranger, his gun raised to the level of the hood-covered head. "Listen, whoever you are, I'm wound pretty tight right now. I've had quite a few sleepless nights courtesy of my friend there in front of you. I'm all pumped up on coffee like an over-inflated helium balloon. And I cannot guarantee that I won't explode at any moment." His hands shook a little, as he took one more step toward the cloaked figure. "If I were you, I'd listen to me now, while I'm still rational and have control over my trigger finger. 'Cause I have a feeling that in about three seconds that control's gonna fly out the window like a blasted rocket ship. One... two..."

The stranger turned toward him then, lifting his head and ... Danny gaped. The he was a she. An oddly familiar looking she. With strikingly piercing blue eyes that were so remarkably, so painfully familiar.

Slowly the woman raised her hands and pulled down the hood to reveal closely cropped dark curls that were powdered with a generous frosting of gray. "You must be Daniel," she said softly. "Joe had mentioned that you were very protective of Stevie."

The gun swung closer, confusion on Danny's face warring with anger. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Doris," she supplied, extending her hand to him in a gesture of reconciliation. "Doris McGarrett."

But Danny shook his head, blue eyes flashing menacingly. "She's dead," he countered. "And so will you be if you don't tell me who you are."

The door behind him squeaked open, and he spared a quick glance to see Joe White walk into the room carrying two steaming cups of coffee. A look of alarm flashed across his face upon seeing Danny there, but then in an instant it was gone, replaced by an easy smile.

"I see you two've met," he commented wryly, looking pointedly at Danny's weapon, which was still aimed at the older woman's head. "Care to tell me why you're pointing that thing at your friend's mother?"

Skewering him with a less than friendly stare, Danny retorted, "Care to tell me what is a woman who was supposed to have been dead for over two decades doing by my friend's bedside?"

"It's a long story." Joe frowned, flicking a warning gaze at the room's only female occupant.

"One that I would certainly **love** to hear," Danny bit back stubbornly, lowering his weapon. Spying a chair nearby, he flopped demonstratively onto its hard plastic seat, stretching out his legs and folding his arms. "I got nowhere I gotta be."

Frustrated by this display, Joe was about to respond, but the woman, Doris, stopped him with a simple wave of her hand. "It's alright, Joe. Maybe it's better if they finally know."

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

_Before anybody jumps down my throat, I would like to point out that the idea for bringing Steve's mom back from the dead was a plot of my own sick and twisted imagination. I realize that there are other who have come up with a similar idea as well, and, hey, that's great. It just proves the good old fact that sick and twisted minds do think alike :-)_


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N I'm afraid I fell a little behind in responding to your comments (okay, maybe a lot behind). My apologies. Time has really been getting away from me lately. I'm trying, though. I'm trying.  
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**Here's the next installment. Not much action here, I'm afraid. Just the background-history kind of stuff. Hopefully the kind that makes sense.  
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**Thank you to everyone who's still sticking with the story!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

**O Black Raven, do not circle. **

**In the sky above my head,**

**You'll not have me as your quarry**

**O Black Raven, I'm not yours**

"I was recruited straight out of college," Doris McGarrett began, settling stiffly in a chair opposite Danny's. Joe blew out a breath noisily, shaking his head in mute disapproval, but relented, acknowledging his defeat. Wordlessly he eased himself into a plastic contraption next to the woman, handing her one of the coffees, which she gratefully accepted.

"Recruited?" Danny prompted, watching impatiently as she took a long cautious sip.

"CIA."

"Huh," he couldn't hide his surprise.

"What?" she looked at him, a teasing crinkle forming around her eyes. "Do I not look like spook material?"

"No, no," Danny pulled himself up straighter, giving her a mental eye roll. _Super SEAL's mother is a super spy. But of course. Why am I not surprised?_ "It's just that Steve had a rather... different idea about what you were like."

A dark shadow passed over the woman's face. Throwing a quick look at her still unconscious son, she explained softly, "That wasn't Stevie's fault, really. He didn't know. John and I never discussed my career choice in front of the kids. When I got pregnant with Steve, I transferred to the Crime and Narcotics Center, doing research on drug trafficking and organized crime - a desk job, really; nothing exciting. Until Wo Jun..."

Tiny little wheels began turning in Danny's head at these words, slowly picking up enough speed and traction to churn out the conclusion that's been eluding him only moments before. "Wo Jun," he murmured, his eyes zeroing in on Joe White, who had suddenly become visibly uncomfortable under the scrutiny. "He wouldn't happen to be related to another Wo character we all know and love?"

In the few tense moments of silence that followed Danny watched the pair exchange awkward looks filled with anxiety and resignation, and he did another eye roll – a real one this time, purposely exaggerated and punctuated by a loud groan, because he just couldn't take it anymore. _The secrets. The lies. That's what drove Steve to near-breaking point, first emotionally, and now physically as well. Enough!_

"So, do they cover winking and eye signals in spook classes?" he bit out, his voice dripping with sarcasm and ire. " 'Cause I gotta tell you, you, guys, suck at this."

Doris sighed, turning back toward him with a sheepish look in her suddenly very dark eyes. "My apologies, Daniel," she said regretfully. "It's just this... well, it brought up a lot ... memories. I guess I wasn't as ready to dredge those up as I thought I was."

"Doris, you don't have to -," White began hoarsely, but she placed a placating hand on his knee, shushing him.

"It's okay, Joe. I got this." Turning to Danny once again, she plunged on, a forced smile twisting her pale lips. "Stevie was just a baby when I was assigned a new case - an influx of the latest, dangerous drugs into Hawaii. I was to trace their source, find out who is getting them on the island."

"Let me guess," Danny cut in, "you traced them back to Wo Jun."

"Not right away, no," Doris shook her head, clasping her hands on her lap. "I thought they were tied to the Yakuza at first."

"Wasn't Wo Jun working for the Yakuza?"

"As it turned out, he was actually peddling those drugs through his own channels," Steve's mother responded, shrugging slightly, as if to express her incredulity at the idea. "He was essentially going behind the Yakuza's back."

Danny shook his head in mute wonder. "I didn't think the Yakuza appreciated competition," he murmured, giving her a questioning look.

"They don't," she confirmed, and Danny noticed with dismay that the grip of her clasped fingers became visibly tighter, her arms shaking with the tension. "And when I leaked the information to them, they were very quick to respond."

"By getting rid of Wo Jun."

It wasn't a question, but Doris nodded anyway. "I thought it was over then," she spoke in near whisper, her eyes downcast, lost somewhere in the memories of long ago. "And for many years it was. Until Wo Jun's son grew up."

"Wo Fat."

Another nod. "I don't know how he found out," Doris breathed out, "I thought I was pretty good at covering my tracks, but..."

Danny paled then, eyes going wide with sudden realization. "You. The car bomb, it was meant for you all along, wasn't it? It had nothing to do with Steve's dad."

She met his gaze then, unsteady, wavering. "I got lucky," she sighed. "The bomb went off early. I got off with a simple concussion."

"But the investigation, the death certificate. Did -" Danny stopped mid-sentence, as another idea struck. "Your husband knew about this, didn't he?"

She nodded again. "John saw it happen. I was beside myself. I had no idea what was going on. But he knew, he knew right away." An errant tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped at it angrily, shifting her gaze to Joe. "John called his old Navy buddy then," she continued, staring straight into her silent companion's eyes, who nodded encouragingly. "Asked him to take me away, get me out of the country. Make me disappear."

"And in the meantime make your children think that their mother was dead?" Danny blurted out, appalled by the notion.

"We didn't have a choice," she replied quietly, meeting Danny's disbelieving gaze with a nearly begging one of her own. "We had to make it look real. We didn't know who exactly was involved, who was connected to this. Like I said, I was pretty thorough at covering my tracks. Only my supervisor at the CIA and my contact in the Yakuza knew of my involvement."

"So either your contact was working two sides or somebody at the Agency was on the Yakuza's payroll," Danny conjectured.

Doris blinked her assent. "That's what John worried about. He wanted to investigate, of course, to find out exactly who was pulling the strings. I tried to talk him out of it, I did. He wouldn't listen. Said he wanted to make sure this island was safe for his family. He had Joe here sneak me out of Hawaii in the middle of the night. And then a short time later he sent the kids away, too." She broke off, her eyes misting over with tears of grief for things past. Her coffee had long grown cold, standing forgotten on the floor beside her chair. The silence stretched, long and uncomfortable, and Danny was about to cough to get her attention, when, finally, Doris spoke again, her voice low and hoarse from non-use.

"I stayed under the radar for about 10 years. No contact with anyone except Joe." She glanced at her silent companion, giving him a small, lopsided smile, and was rewarded with a reassuring squeeze on her arm. "Joe was my lifeline, my only connection to my family - the only way I had to know how they were doing. Then, after 10 years, I get a visit from a man, who introduced himself simply as Katsumi. He told me he knew of the favor I did for the Yakuza all those years ago, and that he was impressed with my investigative skills. He asked me if I would like to apply those skills to track down another rogue distributor." She chuckled bitterly, shaking her head. "It wasn't really a request, you know. The Yakuza don't ask for favors - they tell you what they want, and it's up to you to listen... if you want to live."

She rose abruptly and began pacing nervously in front of her chair, her arms going around her middle, as if the temperature around her had suddenly dropped several degrees and she was trying her best to keep warm.

"I thought that by doing this, by working for these guys I'd be able to help John with his investigation. I'd have access the kind of access to Yakuza that John couldn't even dream of. And if I ask the right questions and if I'm careful about how I ask them, I might just give him the information, the clues he was missing."

Danny frowned, his mind working overtime, as something about Doris's last words made a giant light bulb go off in his mind.

"The postcards from Japan, the mysterious clues, that was you?" he gasped, thinking back to all the times he'd seen Steve pour over the materials in the Champ box, obsess over them, lose sleep over them, treasuring them with fierce desperation as the only remaining link to his parents. _Dear God, if he had only known..._

Doris nodded, flicking him a somewhat hesitant gaze. "I wanted to get our family back together, you know, to have this thing be over. So I began sending him things, things that I thought would help him. I did it under an assumed name, of course."

"Shelburne," Danny spat out the name as if it was venom on his tongue. _It all made sense. In a twisted, horrible way, it made sense._

"My pseudonym, yes..."

A sick, nauseating feeling settled in the pit of Danny's stomach. _Shelburne, the mysterious Shelburne that Steve tormented himself over and had been tortured over, was Steve's own mother - who was as far from being dead as pineapple pizza was from being an acceptable food group. Steve's dad knew about it. Lied to his kids about it. Broke up their lives over it. Died taking his secret to the grave and dumping his mess in his unsuspecting son's lap. And Joe... he knew about it, too. Knew and did nothing to help Steve. Nothing but lie and mislead him, as he claimed to be protecting him. _

Steve's mother continued talking, but Danny was no longer listening. He couldn't. Not over the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears. Rage, pure and unadulterated, flared within him, bursting forth with all the fury of a roaring inferno, and he rose too, his movement punctuated by a loud thud of a fallen chair.

"Do you have ANY idea what he went through?" he hissed, arm flailing in the general direction of his bed-ridden partner. " All the lies you fed your son to supposedly protect him? Well, it put him right in the middle of this mess, YOUR mess. In the few months that he was following the leads you left your husband, Steve got himself framed for murder, thrown in jail, stabbed, kidnapped, tortured - by the very monster YOU helped to create, mind you!"

The Jersey native took a deep breath, ignoring the pained look that twisted Doris's features, and plunged on, his voice sparking with angry accusation.

"You two were so busy playing your little spy games that you never once thought about what this was doing to Steve, were you? You," he stabbed his finger in Joe's face, making the older man flinch back instinctively, "you deliberately shoved him in the wrong direction with the whole Shelburne thing. Why?"

White opened his mouth to respond, but clamped it shut, as Danny's rant continued, making the response for him, "For his own protection? Right? Bullshit! Look at where your so-called protection had gotten him. **Look at him**!"

The door to their room squeaked open, a concerned face of a nurse poking through the crack. "Everything alright in here?"

Doris gasped, twisting her body away from the door, as her hands fumbled with the hood of her cloak. But her companion, grateful for the sudden reprieve, was a picture of calm.

"Everything is fine, thank you," Joe responded, his voice smooth and reassuring, flashing the nurse an apologetic smile. "Sorry about the volume. We'll try to keep it down from now on."

The nurse frowned disapprovingly, but pulled back, letting the door slide shut after her. For a moment silence, tense and unnatural enveloped their white-walled space. The only sounds interrupting the stillness were the mechanical, steady whooshing of Steve's ventilator and Danny's own harsh, ragged breathing.

"Daniel," Doris's feeble voice broke through the intolerable quiet, "I know that-"

"No," he cut her off sharply, his anguished eyes riveted to his partner's bed. "You don't know. You don't **get** to know." The words poured out, pained and hollow, bringing forth all the guilt and worry that has been burning him alive for the past several months. "Everyone he's been close to, he's lost. Everyone he's trusted, has betrayed him. And now he'll find out that everything he'd believed in was a lie. How do you come back from that?" He turned, meeting Doris's own troubled gaze. "Do you have any idea what it would do to him, when he finds out?"

"He won't."

The woman's response was almost too quiet for him to discern, but he did, and his eyebrows pulled together in momentary confusion.

"Won't?" Then the realization dawned, and confusion warped into an angry scowl. "You're not planning on sticking around, are you?" He barked out a furious laugh, teeth bared in undisguised hostility. "You... unbelievable."

"Daniel," she took a step toward him, but he put up his hand, halting the movement, and she held back, her shoulders sagging in defeat. "I know you must think I'm a terrible person, but I really have no choice. I shouldn't have even come in the first place. It was... **is**... still too dangerous for me. I just... I really needed to see him, to make sure he was-," she broke off, eyes downcast to hide the sudden wetness there.

"Well, you saw him. So you can go now," Danny responded harshly and turned away from her, taking the few steps that separated him from Steve's bed.

"Daniel, please."

"I get it, okay?" he gripped the edges of the bed tightly to get his emotions under control. "Wo Fat's still on the loose. Your life's in danger until he's caught. Blah-blah-blah. I'll tell Steve you stopped by." His words tasted bitter on his tongue, almost revoltingly so, but he couldn't help himself. _Steve didn't deserve this. _

He heard two sets of footsteps move off in the direction of the door, and he closed his eyes in anticipation. _Good riddance! _The door squeaked open again, yet he felt them linger and he stiffened as Doris's weary, resigned voice carried to him from the doorway.

"You were wrong about one thing, Daniel. **You.** Steve's never been betrayed by you."

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

_Well, here you have it: my attempt at explaining the whole Shelburne (and I finally know for sure how to spell it - yay!) thing. Eek. Maybe it doesn't make as much sense, but I'm hoping you'll let me run with it for a few more chapters. I'm curious to know what you think._


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N Okay, so we finally got to discover the identity of the mysterious Shelburne in the season finale. And I gotta say, if it weren't for my husband sitting next to me, I would have totally done a Tom Cruise impersonation and began dancing a jig on our living room couch, while screaming "That's what I wrote, that's what I wrote!" at the top of my lungs. But, since I didn't want my husband running off to call the local psychiatric hospital, I had to limit myself to a few vigorous fist pumps. So, forgive me if I do a little celebratory dance in my head right now :-)**

**Now, dancing done, I can't wait to see where the show's writers take this Shelburne story. So, while we are forced to wait until September to find that out, I figured I better hurry up and finish my version before the summer's over. So, without further ado, here's the next installment. Steve's back in this one and so is Danny comfort. The last part of the chapter took me forever to write, and, hopefully, the final product is to your liking. As always, I will be extremely grateful for your comments/thoughts. They feed my muse and make me happy :-)  
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**Disclaimer: Not mine, unfortunately...**

* * *

><p>Chapter 12<p>

**O Black Raven, do not circle**

**In the sky above my head,**

**You'll not have me as your quarry**

**O Black Raven, I'm not yours**

* * *

><p>"Why hasn't he woken up yet?"<p>

Danny's question – swift and powerful like a bolted arrow – slammed into the doctor the moment the man set foot inside Steve's room, a nurse following closely on his heels.

The white-clad man smiled tightly, nodding his greeting. He was used to the question; even used to the nearly accusatory tone in which the question was asked. The detective has been asking the very same question for the past four days – ever since the Commander's chest tube was removed and he was taken off the ventilator.

The initial euphoria of seeing his friend finally begin taking breaths on his own quickly wore off in light of the man's stubborn refusal to wake up.

Every time the doctor's response was the same: Commander McGarrett's system had been under unimaginably severe strain for a prolonged period of time; the fact that the man was even alive at this point, let alone recovering (and at a fairly decent pace, he might add) was a miracle in itself; the Commander's system needed more time to rest to recover, and that was exactly what he was doing – resting, recovering.

"You just need to be a little more patient with him," the doctor assured Detective Williams, "give him a little more time. He'll get there." Yet all his attempts at persuasion fell on deaf ears, as the detective grew more desperate, more frustrated, and more accusatory with each passing day.

The medic sighed, throwing him a tensely reassuring "He can come awake any day now, Detective. Just have patience", and motioned to the nurse to check on his patient's IV line like he has done so many times before. And like so many times before, the detective whirled away from him with a loud huff of annoyance, running a shaky hand through his already disheveled hair.

This nervous hovering presence was not doing any favors to his already frayed nerves, and the doctor decided that enough was enough. Placing a firm hand on the man's shoulder, he waited until the haunted blue eyes lifted to meet his and said as sternly as he could, "Detective, the nurse and I are going to examine Commander McGarrett now. I think it would be best if you waited outside for a few minutes." The man opened his mouth to object, but the doctor continued, cutting him off. "If I see anything new, I will be sure to let you know. Otherwise, my old advice stands - give him time."

Defeated, the blond detective threw one last desperate look at his partner's still form, nodded slowly and walked out, gently shutting the door behind him.

Releasing a brief sigh of relief, the doctor returned to his task, methodically reviewing every bit of information his motionless patient provided him. "Heart rate and blood pressure are good," he confirmed and leaned down, placing a stethoscope on the Commander's chest. "Lungs sound much better than yesterday. Not fully clear yet, though. And the fever is still present, though in a much milder form." He straightened out, turning to the nurse. "I'm going to switch him to lighter antibiotics, but I'd like to do another blood test first. Would you-?"

The woman nodded and stepped out only to return a few minutes later with a tray of blood collection tubes and hypodermic needles. Moving to the patient's side, she slipped on a pair of rubber gloves, swiped the future injection spot with an antiseptic pad, and leaned in with a needle, expertly plunging it into the patient's vein. Blood began flowing almost immediately, filling up the attached collection tube, and, satisfied, the nurse was about to pull the needle out, when something drew her attention away from her task. Looking up in confusion, she nearly dropped the device, as she was met with a pair of slightly unfocussed dark blue eyes.

H50-H50-H50

Heat. Cold. Pain. Flashes of memories – gruesome, agonizing, torturous. Flashes of brown uniform, frozen whiteness of snow, a pair of vicious slanted eyes. Then darkness again – frigid and terrifying. More heat. More cold. More pain. More memories. The cycle repeating itself over and over with dizzying, nauseating insistence.

And then a change. A different kind of pain – sharp and penetrating – ripped through the last threads of unconsciousness that stifled his mind. Startled, he peeled his eyes open, blinking wearily at his blurry surroundings.

Whiteness. Cold, uncaring whiteness all around him. The suffocating heat of blankets wrapped around his body. Yet the surface beneath him felt softer and warmer than the floor of their cell – his last conscious memory. _Where the hell was he?_ A slight pressure on his arm had him shift his gaze to the right, and his breath froze in his lungs at the sight of a dark-haired woman leaning over a blood-filled tube that was sticking out of his arm. He must have made a sound, because the next moment the woman was looking up at him, a pair of dark slanted eyes meeting his. And a wall of memories slammed into him, fear and anger taking control.

He reacted, his body weak and rigid from nonuse, but still effective enough to knock the woman aside with a well-placed swipe at her exposed neck. Pushing his uncooperative body forward, he felt a tug on his other arm. _An IV?_ _What the hell are they pumping into me here? _ Not hesitating for even a second, he pulled the offending object out of his vein, casting it away as if it were a poisonous snake, and continued on his pained and laborious process of getting the hell off this bed, cot, whatever it was and the hell out of this place.

A sharp exclamation of protest alerted him to another presence in the room, and he whirled toward it, steadying himself against the side of the bed.

Another set of dark eyes, a male in a white doctor's coat. He has heard of these so-called doctors in kwan-li-so camps – soulless experimenters to match Mengele's depravity; butchers all of them.

The so-called doctor walked toward him, talking swiftly , but all his jumbled mind heard were barked out orders in the despised Korean. Pausing only briefly to consider his options, he suddenly became aware of an uncomfortable, pulling weight on his right arm. _The needle, of course. _He mentally slapped himself, remembering the blood-filled tube that was still attached to his arm courtesy of that woman – whoever she was.

His left hand moved even before his brain had finished the thought, fingers wrapping themselves securely around the device, ripping out the needle in one swift, jerking motion. Heedless of the thin streak of red liquid that began running freely down his arm, he jabbed his newly acquired weapon in the direction of the suddenly very nervous "doctor" and, snapping off a few unequivocal threats in Korean, pushed his wobbly legs toward the door.

H50-H50-H50

Danny was pacing. Swiftly, nervously. 10 paces to the window, a sharp turn, 10 paces back to the door of Steve's room, another turn, and onward to the window once more.

His right hand fidgeting nervously with a top buttonhole of his rumpled shirt, and his left fisted tightly around the cell phone that was shoved deep into his pocket, he retraced his steps up and down the hallway, his short body vibrating with restless, fearful energy.

Steve's condition was improving, he knew. He could see it. Yes, his friend's skin was still nearly translucent. But, though still a bit too warm to the touch, it was no longer as disturbingly fever-ridden as it was even only a few days ago. And thanks to the second IV line that was vigorously pumping Steve full of the much needed nutrients, he no longer reminded Danny of a skin-covered skeleton (though, the way Danny saw it, the man could still tie with a broomstick on the amount of actual body fat).

That wasn't what worried him, though. He knew that after whatever hell Steve's been through, his trek to recovery (in both mental and physical sense of the word) would take a while; and likely a very long while at that. Danny understood that. And he was okay with that, really. He'd take the SEAL in whatever mental and physical shape or form and help him, **nay**, **drag** him – kicking and screaming back to normalcy (or whatever would pass for normal as far as his sanity-challenged partner was concerned). As long as Steve was alive for Danny to get him there. But this… this passivity, this stubborn refusal (yes, that's what Danny was gonna call it, dammit, because he was almost one hundred percent certain that the SEAL, even unconscious, was hell-bent on giving him, Danny, a coronary) to wake up was too much to handle. And judging from the way Danny's blood pressure was rising over the last few days, reaching a near-boiling point, heart-attack may very well become a real possibility.

He once again drew level with the door to Steve's room, made another sharp turn and was about to start on his trek back to the window, when a sharp, unexpected sound of something metal hitting floor came from behind the door stopping him short. For a brief moment he stared at it in mute confusion, wondering if he should go inside (despite the doctor's orders to the contrary) and see if everything was alright. The slightly muffled shout, "Commander, stop, you'll injure yourself!", however, made up his mind, and with no further hesitation he jumped forward, pushing his way into the room.

The sight that opened before him effectively took his breath away. The terrified-looking nurse, her face pale and tear-stained, her shaking hands hovering gently around her own throat. The flustered doctor, trying to extricate himself from the twisted lines of an overturned IV pole. And in the foreground, only a handful of paces from the door (and consequently from Danny himself) was Steve. The blood-specked hospital gown flapping around his too-thin frame, his feet wobbling weakly with the strain of keeping upright, his partner jabbed a shaking blood-stained arm in his direction (and, dear God, was this idiot actually pointing a syringe at him?). The wide, haunted eyes (too large on his pale, emaciated face) stared at him, assessing the newly appeared threat.

When he was a little kid, Danny and some of his street buddies chased down a scrawny gray alley cat. The animal has seen his share of fights – a partly missing tail, patchy, ripped out fur on one side, a large jagged tear in its left ear – all telltale signs of a belligerent street-cat lifestyle. When Joey Moretti and he finally cornered the animal at the base of an old abandoned flower shop in a dead-end alley, the cat whipped around - its back arched in a useless attempt at intimidation, the remaining fur standing on end - and hissed loudly, glaring at the two of them with dark crazed eyes that shone with suicidal desperation. The do-or-die intent came through so clear in that wild gaze, that Danny and his friend actually found themselves moving back from the trapped creature and hightailing it out of the alleyway.

Looking into his partner's eyes now, Danny was reminded with a sudden vividness of that animal in the alley all those years ago, and he had to fight the urge to back away.

"He's confused, Detective," the doctor cried out unnecessarily, having finally untangled himself from the mess of plastic lines and taking a cautious step toward them, "I would step back if I were you and let us-"

"No," he cut him off, an expression of disgust twisting his features. Steve wasn't some wild animal he needed to steer clear from. He was his friend, his brother; and right now he needed help. And Danny was going to give it to him, circumstances be dammed.

Swallowing nervously past a thick lump of trepidation, he took the tiniest of steps forward, hands raised before him in a placating gesture.

"Hey, Aquaman, how about putting down your spear and letting the good doctor there examine you, huh? Preferably, before you faceplant and leave your naked derriere for all the world to see."

Steve blinked, his gaze sliding up to meet Danny's for the first time, a deep crease cutting between his eyebrows. The hand holding the needle shook with strain and indecision.

"D-dan-ny…?" the raspy whisper was filled with hopeful trepidation, and Danny chanced another step forward, a bigger one this time.

"Yes, you goof, it's me, it's Danny. And you can stop trying to fight everyone off now, you're home."

"Home," the word tumbled past the bloodless lips, followed by a choked, strangled sound.

A confused, glazed look surveyed the room around him, seeing it and its occupants for real for the very first time. "Home…"

The improvised weapon slipped from a suddenly nerveless hand, blood splattering every which way from the broken vial, as Steve swayed precariously on his feet. And Danny reacted, closing the distance between them swiftly and accurately, his arms wrapping gently around his friend's bony frame, as he lowered both of them to the ground.

He felt the SEAL stiffen in his embrace, but that lasted only a moment. Haunted, hope-filled eyes met his, dove into the very depth of them until Danny grew afraid of drowning in the intense tortured whirlpools of his friend's soul. Then, suddenly, eye contact was broken, and Steve's head dropped weakly onto Danny's shoulder. He felt the whisper of his partner's breath on his shoulder - a desperate, choked out sound of his name being spoken, as Steve's hands fisted tightly around his shirt, and Danny couldn't help flinching as the other man's fingers dug painfully into his flesh. Yet he dared not move. He didn't even dare to breathe. All he could do, all he could think of doing, was hold his friend close, relishing in the simple sensation of feeling his heartbeat, as it thumped wildly against his own chest. "I'm here, Babe," he murmured softly into Steve's ear. "I got you."

The doctor and the nurse moved closer, hovering above their hunched forms, but Danny waved them off with a vigorous shake of his head. _Not now. Steve needed this, right here. Hell, __**he **__needed this – just as much, if not more so. He'll get him back in bed. He will. Just let him… let __**us**__ breathe…_

And so Danny held him, as tightly as he dared, until he felt the other man's painful, vise-like grip weaken, the last of the tension-filled energy leaving his body with a long, shuddering shiver.

"Come on, Super SEAL, let's get you horizontal. Soft bed, pillows and blankets. What do you say?" Danny groaned, unfolding himself from his less than comfortable position on the floor and gently pulling the former SEAL with him. "Up you go. I'm not carrying your ass again."

Steve snorted indignantly, but leaned bonelessly into his friend's solid form, letting himself be half-walked, half-dragged to the mess of tangled sheets that the nurse had hurriedly put back into some semblance of order.

Danny stepped back, letting the nurse settle Steve comfortably in bed and reattach the IV lines. She had just finished wiping the trail of dried blood off his friend's arm, when that same arm reached out weakly toward him, pleading, searching. Grabbing it gently, Danny moved closer, throwing a questioning look at the nurse.

"I'm finished with this for now," the latter nodded, her voice hoarser than Danny remembered it being. His gaze slid down to a deep red bruise on the poor woman's neck, and the Jersey native winced in mute sympathy. _Oh, Steven…_

"I will need to draw some more blood, though, since the Commander destroyed the other sample," the nurse added, giving her patient something resembling a glare. "Doctor?"

The ruffled, white-robed man shook his head. "It can wait till later. The Commander needs to rest after all… this," he made a sweeping gesture with his hand, encompassing the entire room. "You can stay with him, Detective, until he falls asleep. And I can talk to you afterwards if you have any questions."

They left, and Danny didn't even register their absence. Perching carefully on the edge of the bed, he gave his friend's hand a reassuring squeeze, watching with an amused smile other man's feeble attempts to keep his eyes open.

"Sleep, you pigheaded mule," he chided gently. "I'm not leaving, I promise. Not getting you out of my sight again even if I have to attach one of those retractable leashes to your stupid cargo pants. Got that, Aquaman?"

Steve's pale lips pulled into a wan smile, eyes drooping with fatigue that he was no longer able to combat. But just as the overpowering sleep was about to drag him under, he stubbornly peeled them open, capturing Danny's gaze for one last second.

"Trident, Danny," he murmured in a near-breathless whisper. "Aquaman had a trident…"

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><p>TBC<p>

_Let me know what you think. Pwetty pwease? (pleading puppy dog eyes)_


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N **Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing! The Super SEAL is now safe back home, but is his emotional recovery going to be an easy one? Hmm... Nah. What would be the fun in that, right? :-)

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><p>Chapter 13<p>

**O Black Raven, do not circle**

**In the sky above my head,**

**You'll not have me as your quarry**

**O Black Raven, I'm not yours**

A shrill buzzing sound cut into his sleep-clouded consciousness, tearing a wide gaping hole in the peaceful, worry-free canvas of dreams that the day's exhaustion has delicately woven around his mind. Blinking hazily, he lifted his head off the foot of the hospital bed and leaned back into his chair, where he had fallen asleep, hunched over in an impossibly awkward position.

The annoying sound continued, and he shook himself awake with a sudden jerk, fumbling for the offending object in his pocket, even as his eyes cut worriedly to the sleeping form of his partner. _"Still out. Good."_

His gaze still trained on Steve, he finally fished out his cell phone and hurriedly hit the "answer" button, without even bothering to look at the caller ID.

"Williams."

"Danny, it's Joe," a tired voice came through with a crackling of static, and Danny suddenly had a very strong urge to test just how impact proof his phone really was . "Please, don't hang up."

"It's 4 o'clock in the freaking morning, Joe. That's 4 a.m. F-O-U-R. Do you know what normal people do at 4 in the morning?" he seethed, his finger hovering over the "end call" button, because, dammit, if he didn't want to just hang up on the bastard. "What the hell do you want?"

"Only time I could get away. Sorry," came a half-hearted apology. And then a timid, "How... how's Steve?"

"How's Steve, he asks," Danny's angry whisper rose a few decibels, and he belatedly caught himself, throwing another weary look at the man in bed.

Satisfied that the latter appeared to be as blissfully knocked out as before, he pulled himself out of his chair with an audible creak and walked quietly over to the door to prevent any further verbal explosions from waking his partner.

"Steve's been doing peachy, actually," he continued, unable to keep sarcasm out of his voice. "He came to about a week ago. Nearly killed the nurse in the process. He's still thin enough to be virtually invisible when he's standing sideways. Sleeps only when he's drugged up to his eyeballs. Oh, and did I mention that he wakes up screaming till he's blue in the face? The patients on his floor have actually started a petition to get him discharged early, 'cause they can't get any sleep. So, yeah, he's doing good. Thanks for asking."

A heavy sigh was his response. "Nightmares are... to be expected, Danny. He'll-"

"He'll ... what? Be fine? Is that what you were gonna say?"

"He'll get through this," Joe deadpanned, his voice tight and raspy. "With help. Your help."

"Right." Danny shuddered, thinking back to the first time that the former SEAL bolted awake, a hoarse, desperate scream dying on his dry, pale lips.

_Eyes dark and unseeing, glistening suspiciously in the semi-gloom of the hospital room. White-knuckled fingers digging viciously into the rumpled, sleep-twisted sheets._

_Danny reached for him then, planting a firm and gentle hand on the other man's shoulder, anchoring him to the here and now. And Steve responded – his own hand rising shakily to grab Danny's, a breathless scratchy whisper of relief – "Danno..." – as he leaned wearily and gratefully into his touch. And they sat quietly for what felt like hours; Steve's harsh, ragged breathing – the only sound disturbing the stillness of the room. _

_Steve pulled back finally, a mumbled apology slipping past his lips, and Danny was taken aback by the amount of self-loathing he saw in the dark, stormy eyes. _

_"Listen, hey, listen," he whispered hurriedly, even as the former SEAL cast his eyes downward, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze, "you have nothing to be sorry for, you hear? I'm staying right here even if it means I'll have to wear a hearing aid for the rest of my life because your hollering ruptures my delicate eardrums. I'm here, okay. Do you understand me? Steve?" _

_The latter nodded mutely in response, eyes hidden beneath the half-lowered lashes, and they left it at that. No more words that night. Because none were needed. Because both of them knew that Danny's words were true. _

_And the next night when Steve's hoarse screams pulled the blond detective out of his uneasy slumber, he simply repeated what he had done the night before, quietly reassuring the former SEAL of his presence. Just like that. Because if Steve could trust him enough to leave himself that open, that vulnerable, the least he could do was not betray that trust._

Speaking of...

"Did you tell him yet?"

Joe's question sliced through him like a red-hot knife through butter, leaving him momentarily breathless.

There was no need to elaborate. Danny knew exactly what Joe was referring to. The damn secret that has been eating him alive and that he wanted to tell Steve oh so badly. But as fragile as his friend's psyche was at the moment, he couldn't, _**wouldn't**_drop this bombshell on him. Not now. Not until he was sure the news wouldn't send his partner over the edge.

"You're talking about that visitor from the other world?" he bit out, hiding his discomfiture behind a thick paste of sarcasm that coated his words. "No. You know what? It didn't come up. What with all the sleepless nights and trying to help my partner keep himself together your zombie friend was somehow not a priority."

He heard Joe sigh on the other end – a breath of relief – and he felt, actually felt his blood boil. "Don't go peeing your shorts with joy now," he all but growled, his voice itching to rise to his usual rant-level volume. "I fully intend on spilling all the juicy details at the first good opportunity I get."

A quiet, resigned "I know" was his response. Then, silence – long and strained – and the crackling of static. "Danny... if you ever... if you think you might need help with Steve at all, you... (sigh) ... Don't hesitate to call this number, ok?"

Joe's voice was soft, almost pleading. And Danny nearly took pity on him. Nearly.

"Don't hold your breath."

He hung up, thumbing the screen a bit too forcefully perhaps, and looked up, and froze, because Steve's eyes were wide open and looking right at him.

H50-H50-H50

Sleep eluded him that night, stubbornly, frustratingly. Although, if he were honest with himself, he'd have to admit that this wasn't something he really minded. Not if it meant one less nightmare to wake up from.

Still, he was feeling exhausted, and found himself drifting periodically – his mind hovering just at the edge of consciousness, plunging momentarily into the beckoning darkness, only to resurface a few brief moments later, tantalizingly short of the comfort of rest.

Every once in a while, cold tendrils of fear – cruel and irrational – would wrap themselves around his drowsy, unsuspecting mind, and he would force his eyes open, frantically seeking out the tousled mop of blond hair at the foot of his bed – _Danny, his anchor_. And having drunk in the reassuring sight, he'd once again slide his eyes closed and lie still and quiet, cursing his weakness.

He must have dropped into sleep at some point, because the next thing he was aware of is hushed angry talking that sounded decidedly out of place in the nighttime stillness. Peeling his eyes open a crack, he sought the source of the disruption, surprised to see the white splash of his partner's shirt – bright against the all-consuming twilight – moving restlessly to and fro at the far end of the room.

Danny seemed upset, angry even. _Who was he talking to?_

"...The patients on his floor have actually started a petition to get him discharged early, 'cause they can't get any sleep. ..."

_"Me," _the realization washed over him like a bucket of ice-cold water, all traces of drowsiness gone in an instant, _"he's talking about me. But who's _–_"_

He didn't get a chance to finish that thought, as Danny's voice seemed to grow angrier and tighter still, and he frowned, trying to make sense of his partner's words. _"Zombie? Other world? What the -?"_

"I fully intend on spilling all the juicy details at the first good opportunity I get."

_"What details, Danny? What the hell is going on?"_

Danny hung up, his gaze turning toward him, and Steve cursed the darkness that hid his friend's expression. His posture – stiff and unnatural – told him enough, though.

He sighed, watching as his friend moved slowly toward the bed, cringing at the forced levity of his "Hey, shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he parried raspily. He was acutely aware of the fact that Danny still had not sat down in his usual spot, but stood frozen awkwardly half a step away from the bed, from him. The blond's head was bent low, face still obscured by the murky shadows, but Steve could feel nervous energy rolling off of his partner wave after suffocating wave.

Silence stretched between them, tense and uncomfortable. And suddenly Steve had enough of watching his friend chew on his bottom lip. Grunting with effort, he pushed himself up into a semi-sitting position and firmly grabbed the elephant in the room by its elusive tail.

"So, the phone call... what was this all about?" he asked quietly, trying in vain to peer through his friend's cover of darkness. _"Please don't lie to me, Danny!"_

Danny stopped biting his lower lip and actually raised his head, meeting Steve's gaze for the briefest of seconds before pulling away again. And Steve felt his heart plummet.

"It was nothing. Just Joe calling to check up on you. Wanted to find out how you were doing."

_"Right. Then why are you avoiding me, buddy? What aren't you telling me and why?"_

"Is everything alright?"

His voice must have held enough disbelief, for Danny turned to him again, eyes narrowing, and Steve actually found himself squirming a bit under the scrutiny of his partner's gaze. A moment later the bed squeaked with the added weight, as the shorter man settled himself carefully on the edge.

Leaning forward slightly, a tight smile pulling at the corners of his lips, Danny placed a tentative hand on Steve's upper arm. "Everything's fine, Mr. Worrywart. Go to sleep now and concentrate on getting better."

Something new flashed in the blond's eyes, an expression that Steve wasn't able to identify; not right away, not in that cursed darkness. The hand on his arm tightened just a bit - a small squeeze of reassurance. "We'll talk more later. Okay?"

And at that moment, at that exact moment Steve understood what that fleeting look was: _Pity._ A simple and gut-wrenching realization.

_His friend pitied him; felt sorry for him. Because he was so weak, so pathetically weak that he had to cling to his partner's arm and scream like a little girl. He was a goddamned SEAL, and he couldn't even hold himself together over a little thing like nightmare. A laughing stock of the entire hospital floor. No wonder Danny was treating him with kid gloves._

A sick feeling washed over him, clenching his gut into a tight, nauseating ball.

_This needed to stop. Now._ _No more of this pathetic neediness. He could handle this himself. _

_He was a SEAL. He was tough. Tougher than this. _

_He was a SEAL. He could do this on his own. He __**needed **__to do this on his own. To squash this, file it away in some tiny remote compartment in his mind – one that he would never ever open again. _

_He was a SEAL. He's been through worse. He's handled worse. On his own. That's what he was taught. He could do this._

Danny was watching him carefully, gauging his reaction. And he nodded, sinking back into his pillows with a tired "okay."

"I'm gonna try and get some shut-eye," he whispered, letting his eyes slide close, as though from exhaustion. "Go home, Danno. You need some real sleep, too."

"Are you sure?" Danny's hand was still wrapped around his arm, hesitating, and he fought the urge to tear his arm away.

"I'll be fine, D," he mumbled, faking the biggest yawn he could muster. "Get out of here."

The hand on his arm didn't budge, and Steve risked a glance at his friend and barely managed to stifle a gasp at the amount of genuine concern he saw reflected back at him. _"Please, Danny, stop."_

"Look, I know you think you're a Super SEAL and all - hell, I've called you that on numerous occasions -, but," Danny shook his head, a disapproving frown marring his features, "I just don't think that leaving you alone right now is such a good idea."

_"Right. Because I'm so pathetically weak that I need my partner here to hold my hand when I have another nightmare," _Steve thought bitterly. Mustering a feeble semblance of a smile for his partner's sake, he gently picked up his friend's hand, moving it aside.

"Now who's being a worrywart?" he joked, poking him lightly in the ribs. "Go home, Mother Hen. I can handle being on my own for a few hours." Steve put as much conviction into his voice as he could muster, and was gratified to see reluctant acceptance on his partner's face.

Biting back a sigh of relief, he watched as Danny pulled away from him, finally, and walked out, promising to be back in a few hours and threatening horrible repercussions should the SEAL even think of doing something stupid.

_He had a few hours then. Plenty of time._

And as Danny's footsteps died away in the empty hallway, he threw back the covers and pushed himself slowly and cautiously up and off the bed.

* * *

><p>TBC<p>

_Now what is he up to?_


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N Thank you everyone for sticking with the story. Sorry it took me a bit longer to update this time. Getting at Steve's inner demons is proving a bit harder than I thought. I hope you enjoy this next installment. Let me know your thoughts :)**

**Disclaimer: they don't belong to me sigh  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>O Black Raven, pull your claws back<strong>

**Why unfurl them above my head?**

**Do you sense a prey, Black Raven?**

**O Black Raven, I'm not yours.**

**Chapter 14**

In winter months the beaches were jam-packed with tourists from the Northern mainland, who flocked to Hawaii to escape the cold and gloom of their snow-gripped cities. Weekends were especially busy. And Kamekona, never one to let a perfect money-making opportunity slip through his sausage-sized fingers, made it a point to be at his shrimp truck at dawn break every Saturday and Sunday, ready to assail the tourists' senses with overpowering, mouth-watering aroma of shrimp jambalaya and garlic scampi.

His alarm went off at the usual 5:45 am, and he lay in bed, blinking sleepily at the dark ceiling, allowing himself a few minutes of lazy relaxation before getting up to make himself a hearty breakfast and get energized for another profitable day at the beach.

His mind was drawing him beautiful, scrumptious pictures of a generously buttered, fluffy wheat bun and a thick, sizzling omelet, filled with pieces of spam, bacon, green peppers, and gooey cheddar, and topped with chopped ham, fresh onions and diced tomatoes. Nothing in that idyllic daydream or the peaceful, languid surroundings even hinted at the hurricane that was about to burst into his life in the form of a hospital phone call, a phone call that was only moments away.

Of course, he said 'yes', when a nurse, profusely apologetic for calling at such an ungodly hour, asked him if he could come by to pick up a certain Lt-Commander McGarrett, who not only insisted on being discharged as soon as possible but also requested that he, Kamekona, be the one to come get him.

Naturally, Kamekona knew some of the ordeal that the Five-0 Task Force leader went through in North Korea. He made it his business to know whenever something big was happening on the Islands, and this thing - well, it was as big as they come. After all, it's not every day that the head of the Five-0 Task Force gets kidnapped by the head of the Yakuza and handed over to his arch nemesis.

Yes, Kamekona made it his business to stay well informed. He knew all about the boat that McGarrett had been taken to; knew who the boat's owner was. And he'd readily given that information to the rest of the Five-0 team, free of charge. He wasn't heartless, he could see the man's ohana was hurting. In all honesty, he was rather saddened himself. He genuinely liked that crazy haole, and hadn't the man gone through enough shit over the past year already? And to have this all end like this - a bullet to the head somewhere in the middle of the ocean? For Kamekona was fairly sure that McGarrett was a goner. The haole may have managed to stay ahead of Wo Fat's bullet here on the Islands, where his ohana had his back. But alone, injured - he didn't stand a chance.

Sure, the man's team still held hope for his recovery, but even that hope was dwindling. Kamekona could see it in their eyes, whenever they crossed paths, whenever any one of them would come to him asking him if he had heard anything new, pleading with him to keep his eyes and ears open. And seeing their grief so harsh, so bare in their haunted features, the big guy felt his own heart fill with sorrow.

Then the miracle happened. McGarrett was found. Alive, but in a very poor shape, from what he had heard. Kamekona was honestly pleased to hear that. He even came to visit him at the hospital with a big bouquet of get well balloons and a generous plate of his best shrimp jambalaya. But he took one look at McGarrett's virtually unrecognizable skeletal-thin frame, met the exhausted, anguished look of his partner, and suddenly it was too much. The agony of suffering both mental and physical hung in the air, making it so thick that Kamekona found himself struggling to breathe, and he just couldn't get himself out of that hospital room fast enough. Shoving the shrimp and the balloons awkwardly into Williams' arms, he hurried out of there (with as much speed as his large form was capable of producing), mumbling some nonsense excuses and trying his best to ignore the look of confusion and surprise on the blond haole's face. He made himself a promise then not to come back for another visit. Not until McGarrett got back to at least some semblance of normal.

So, yeah, he was rather surprised to receive that phone call. Yes, McGarrett had turned to him in the past, when he needed to "borrow" a gun from his not-actually-existing-if-any-upstanding-member-of-law-enforcement-should-inquire supply of weapons. And that other time, when he had broken his arm and needed a ride from the hospital. His partner was busy chasing down a lead then, and it wasn't really that big of a deal - just a few broken bones. But this, this was different. More uncomfortably personal, more raw. More suited for someone like that blond haole, whom McGarrett was close to. And wasn't Williams basically living in McGarrett's hospital room lately (at least from what he had heard)? Shouldn't he be the one to take him home? He'd be a hell of a lot better at handling the whole vulnerable McGarrett thing. A hell of a lot.

Still, Kamekona didn't have the heart to refuse. And, having filled his now increasingly nervous belly with a hastily prepared omelet (a far cry from the scrumptious feast he had imagined only a few moments earlier), he flopped his unwieldy frame onto the seat of his old trusted Jeep that greeted him with a pitiful squeak and headed to the hospital, shaking his head in mute disapproval all the way there.

That disapproval only intensified upon seeing McGarrett - the way Kamekona saw it, the man had no business leaving the hospital. If anything, he should have been strapped in bed and force-fed until there was actually some appreciable meat on those bones. But then he wasn't a doctor. And the doctor did say that McGarrett was okay to leave, so long as someone would stay with him at all times. It was at that point that Kamekona got the distinct impression that the doctor actually implied that he, Kamekona, would be that someone. Brows knit in genuine confusion, he turned to McGarrett, about to ask where the doctor could have possibly gotten this idea from, but the man gave him such a heartrendingly pleading look that Kamekona's mouth slammed shut and remained so all through his and McGarrett's awkward ride together. Thankfully, as far as staying silent went, McGarrett was only happy to oblige.

H50-H50-H50

The sun has just begun to slowly ease its way onto the sleepy Hawaiian sky, pushing back the cooler darkness of a January night, when Kamekona pulled his Jeep to a stop in front of McGarrett's house.

Turning in his seat slightly, he gave his taciturn passenger a long, evaluative look and decided he had kept his silence long enough.

"You sure 'bout dis, brah? You look like you coulda used some moe moe in a hospital bed and some fattening up. No offense."

His pale, gaunt companion offered him a grim, half-hearted smile. "None taken, Kame. I do prefer sleeping in my own bed, though."

Lips pressed together in a tight frown of disapproval, Kamekona once again attempted to be the voice of reason: "Still, maybe I oughta call that blond haole friend of yours. You shouldn't stay on your own. Even da doc says so."

"The doctor cleared me," Steve objected, his own face pulling into a frown of displeasure.

"With da supervision," Kamekona parried.

"I'll be fine, Kamekona. I don't need you calling anyone." Steve's tone was tense, clipped. His eyes narrowed irritably, hand reaching for the door handle. Pushing the door open, however, he froze, one leg dangling over the edge. "Thanks for coming to get me, man," he said quietly, "I'm sorry for dragging you out of bed that early."

"No problem, bruddah. In my business, you gotta rise early."

"Right." Steve gave him a ghost of a smile, nodding tightly. "Thanks anyway." And he slipped out of the car, walking stiffly toward the house.

Kamekona watched him go, watched him hesitate longer than necessary in front of his own door before pushing his way inside, and shook his head once again. "Lolo haole," he whispered disapprovingly, and with a heavy sigh shifted his car in gear.

H50-H50-H50

Steve was tired. Exhausted even. With the kind of bone-aching weariness that left him completely and utterly drained. Perhaps more so emotionally than anything else. The persistent question: "What the hell are you doing, Steven?", swirled annoyingly inside his head like a meddling Danny-shaped bee, poking at his weary consciousness, placing doubt where none has been before. The question pursued him from the moment he set his foot into the doctor's office, stayed with him throughout the forty or so minutes he spent convincing the medical staff at Tripler that he should be allowed to go home, because - dammit - with his fever gone, there was really no reason for them to be keeping him there. It continued to buzz inside his suddenly aching head as he waited for Kamekona, clutching his AMA discharge papers, and it began to buzz louder still under the big man's disapproving glare. _"Dear God, has Kamekona been hanging out with Danny lately?"_

It had gotten so bad that he barely kept himself in check when his unlikely companion expressed aloud the doubt that has been plaguing him with ever-increasing urgency, the doubt that hasn't been there before, when he left his hospital room, so determined to get away from everyone's watchful eyes, to crawl into his own comfortable hole and begin licking his wounds.

_He needed to do this on his own, didn't he? Then why did his response to Kamekona's concern sound so hollow to his own ears? Why did the sight of his own house made him feel like sinking deeper into his seat, cowering in fear. _

He pushed himself forward, though. _He had to. Didn't he? This was the right thing for him to do. Wasn't it?_

The house loomed large and imposing before him, its windows dark and uninviting. And as he approached it shakily, he felt the doubt and fear blossom unrestrained in his chest, seeping into his blood like liquid poison, overwhelming, paralyzing. He froze at the door, legs too leaden to move, as his mind struggled to convince him that Adam Noshimuri's men were not standing behind it, waiting for him to come in.

He was perfectly aware of Kamekona's stare burning a hole in his back. The man seemed genuinely worried about him. And if he gave him any reason, he was sure Kamekona would be calling his team the first chance he gets. And that was the last thing he needed. So he gritted his teeth until they hurt, pulling on every last reserve of determination, and forced his hand to move, shoving the door open and virtually stumbling inside.

Dimly he heard the scrape of the tires on the gravel outside, the sound of a car's engine dying in the distance, and closed his eyes briefly in relief, even as his heart thudded painfully against his ribs - a hollow echo of his absolute loneliness.

He looked around the room, eyes dark and haunted as they slid over the quiet innocuous surroundings. _This was where he was taken. This is where his hell began._

He leaned down, fingers brushing a small dark spot staining the hardwood floor. _Blood. His blood._

_"You chose to protect the man who murdered my father. Now I choose to punish you in his stead."_

_Punishment. Pain. Torture. Death. So much death._

He jerked his hand away as if scolded, the memories thick, crushing, suffocating. And suddenly the very air became unbearable - fetid and stuffy like a stagnant swamp. And then, suddenly, he couldn't breathe.

Gulping like a fish out of water, he staggered across the living room, nearly tripping over the leg of the table. Lungs stuffed for air, he burst through the lanai doors, his momentum carrying him forward a bit farther than he had anticipated, having him pitch forward off-balance until his knees slammed harshly and gracelessly onto the sand.

Unconsciously his fingers dug deep into the familiar softness, curling into his palm, as he pulled out fistfuls of that unique Hawaiian sand, so achingly dear, so terribly missed. He let his head drop momentarily onto his fisted hands, relishing in the feel of that sand against his cheek, rough and soft at the same time, seeped in the most wonderful, invigorating aroma of the ocean, something he didn't think he would ever smell again.

Something wet rolled down his cheek, but he paid it no heed. Head raised once again, he stared intently at the bewitching swirling blue of the ocean waves. And then he was up, swaying slightly. And then his shoes were off, and he was running, stumbling toward the ocean, feet sinking in the sand. And then there was water around. All around him. Calming, lulling, soothing. And he dove into it, surrendering to its waiting embrace like a wounded animal starved for the healing energy of its natural habitat.

_TBC_


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N Thank you all so much for your continued feedback and support. I apologize for not responding to everyone individually lately. Got a bit behind on responses, and I hate that. Here's a quicker update, though. Hope that makes up for the lack of replies (at least partially). :-)**

* * *

><p><strong>O Black Raven, pull your claws back<strong>

**Why unfurl them above my head?**

**Do you sense a prey, Black Raven?**

**O Black Raven, I'm not yours.**

**Chapter 15**

Steve knew his limits, knew them better than most other people ever could. So he didn't plan on swimming too far. He was no fool. And no matter how painful it was to admit to his weakness, he knew there was no way he could get anywhere close to the distance he normally swam. Not in his current shape.

So when he felt himself tire out, he stopped his furious forward dash, and, biting back disappointment at having to quit earlier than he had anticipated, flipped onto his back. Spreading his arms and legs out into the shape of a star, he floated, squinting up at the warm morning sun. Small and weightless amidst this enormous watery expanse.

Head leaned back, ears submerged into the water that drowned out all the sounds of the morning, he closed his eyes contentedly, relishing in the feeling of safety and security for the first time in oh so many months. Like a child lulled to peaceful sleep in its mother's warm and loving embrace, he lay there for what seemed like hours, letting his body relax against the gentle rocking of the waves.

And if it weren't for the loud rumbling that came from the direction of his stomach, he probably wouldn't have considered swimming ashore for quite a while. As it were, his empty stomach has spoken, and he had no choice but to turn back. Slowly, loath to relinquish the soothing comfort of his watery hammock, he rolled over and began pushing himself forward, slicing through the warm, pliable waves with precise, deliberate strokes.

Despite all that rest, by the time he reached shallow water, Steve was running on fumes. Arms and legs wooden and uncooperative like those of a first-time swimmer, he struggled through the last few hundred feet, fighting desperately against the suddenly viscous, smothering element.

At long last his feet touched the bottom, and he stumbled forward on half-bent, shaking legs. A few unsteady, flailing seconds later his strength gave out completely, and he collapsed breathless and boneless, halfway out of the water. Lungs and muscles burning from exertion, blood roaring in his ears, he lay unmoving, perfectly content to simply concentrate on getting his harsh breathing under control.

The ocean sapped his physical strength, leaving him limp and flabby like a wrung out wash cloth. But it gave him something else in return - a bit of inner peace that lay like a band-aid on the jagged, gaping wound in his soul, bringing the torn, bleeding edges just a tad closer together. And, yeah, he was enjoying the moment, even though his entire body ached as though he had just finished another round of Hell Week training.

"What the HELL do you think you're doing?"

_Yep. He should have known the moment was too good to last._

Closing his eyes briefly in resignation, he rolled himself onto his back with some difficulty and prepared himself for the inevitable.

"Hey, Danny," he managed hoarsely, squinting up at the fury-flushed face of his partner.

"Hey, Danny? Hey, Danny? Don't you 'hey, Danny' me, you son of a bitch!"

The blond detective looked beyond pissed. His hands, the ones that would have normally been slicing through the air in a series of wild, dizzying pirouettes, were shoved deep into his pockets, fisted so tightly, it seemed the fabric encasing them was about to be ripped apart. The arms trembled visibly with the effort of keeping those same hands in place. It was as though Danny was afraid of what damage those hands might do if he were to release them from their cloth prison.

Steve had the distinct impression that should Danny relinquish his control even for a second, one of those tightly closed fists would not hesitate to make a rather violent contact with his face. He swallowed nervously, feeling suddenly very vulnerable in his prone position. And so carefully he began to push his uncooperative muscles to work, fighting to get himself vertical, while his partner's angry words rushed at him from above.

"Did I or did I not tell you not to do anything stupid? Huh, McGarrett? Tell me, what normal person would take that to mean 'sign yourself out of the hospital and go for a swim in the goddamn ocean? Alone! What if something happened? What if you had -?" Danny broke off, unable to voice aloud the horrifying scenario that his mind had been replaying for him over and over since Kamekona's phone call, the one of Steve dead or dying alone in his house. All because the SEAL was too stubbornly stupid to ask for help, and because he, Danny, was too stupidly naive to believe that Steve would actually listen to him for a change and stay put.

"I know my limits, Danny," Steve ground out, huffing with both effort and frustration. He managed to get himself onto all fours and was currently maneuvering his body to unfold into a standing position. But he didn't get a chance to. A hand shot out toward him lightning fast, fingers dug into his upper arm, and he was pulled none-too-gently upright.

He swayed on his feet, the hand on his arm - the only thing keeping him from planting his face back into the sand. He locked eyes with Danny and was dismayed by what he saw there. Anger he was expecting, yes. But fear? _"Geez, Danny..."_ Guilt began to gnaw at him even as he felt himself being pulled roughly forward, until he almost slammed into the smaller man.

"You know your limits? You, jerk!" Danny exploded, shaking the former SEAL by the fistfuls of his shirt. "Look at you! You look like something a shark threw up. I saw you, you know. You barely made it ashore! Hell, you can't even stand straight. Tell me, genius, what **possible** reason did you have for wiping yourself out like that? Because for a guy who had one foot in the grave not so long ago, you sure seem to be in a hurry to put yourself right back in there."

"That's the point, Danny," Steve exhaled in a near whisper, letting his head drop down on his chest.

"What is?"

Instead of a response, the taller man pulled back, gently extricating himself from his partner's grip. Turning away from Danny's questioning stare, he settled back on the calming view of the ocean, letting his eyes roam over the vast blue expanse.

"I haven't felt alive in so long," he sighed, his voice marred with harsh bitterness that made Danny's stomach tighten in worry. "I've been doing nothing but lying on my ass all day, trying to keep myself from going insane... from... from ending it all."

"Ending it?" Now Danny was back in his face, his blue eyes wide with undisguised worry. "Steve, I don't -"

The SEAL merely shook his head, silencing his friend's further lecture. "I was... AM a mess, Danny. And I'm not blind. I can see what it's been doing to everyone around me. To you. I didn't want that. I needed... I guess, I felt I needed to get away."

Danny's hands were once again gripping his arms, forcefully so; the blond's piercing gaze locked on his, searching. "Get away? From us? From me? Steve, I don't know what mess you got going on in that thick skull of yours, but this - this running away business is the last thing you should be doing. After all the shit that happened, I... we... all of us need to know that you're okay, that you're safe. You understand? For everyone's sanity. For _my _sanity."

"Danny-"

"No, listen. I know these past few days have been rough on you. I get it. You're the big bad Super SEAL. You're not used to being this..."

"Pathetic? Weak?"

"I was gonna say 'vulnerable', you ass," Danny snapped, frowning in exasperation, because nothing in Steve's face even hinted that the SEAL was anything but dead serious in his choice of epithets.

"Look," he began, his hands reaching up to land on either side of Steve's face, gentle and grounding. "I have no idea what you went through over there. I can't even begin to imagine. All I know is that when Adam Noshimuri told me he handed you over to Wo Fat, I felt like someone had sliced a knife through my gut and ripped me open. And I was bleeding ever since. Until we found you. You understand?" He flinched at the pain he saw reflected back at him. " Don't shut us out, babe. Please. Talk to me."

Steve held his gaze for several heartbeats, before pulling back once again. "I can't," he whispered hoarsely, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

Danny opened his mouth again, ready with another stream of arguments, when the door to the lanai squeaked open, and a small unsure voice called out, "Danno?"

Both men swiveled in the direction of the voice, one smiling, one petrified.

"Hey, Monkey! Got tired of waiting? I'll be there in a sec."

"Grace?" Steve managed past a suddenly sandpaper dry throat. "You brought Grace?"

Danny turned to him then, surprised by his sudden pallor. "Yeah, I brought Grace! I was bringing her to the hospital to see you, but then, you know, I got this phone call from Kamekona. (Great guy, by the way, I should remember to buy him a big chicken and shrimp dinner or something.) So, now, instead of visiting with her uncle Steve, which she had been wanting to do for days now, mind you, she is stuck waiting in your living room, until her daddy kicks her uncle's ass for acting like an idiot."

The blond stopped his rant, noting with dismay that Steve was no longer listening or even looking at him. The SEAL's eyes were glued to the tiny figure that was currently racing toward them with a happy squeal of "Uncle Steve!" His friend's reaction was not at all what Danny would have expected, however. The man blanched even more (if that were even possible), taking a few steps back and putting his arms up in a defensive gesture.

"Don't," he begged so softly that Danny barely heard him.

_Something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong._ And all Danny knew was that bringing Grace was probably a mistake. He just wished he knew why. The detective turned to intercept his little girl, but he was a few seconds too late. Grace had already made it past his ineffectual lunge for her and barreled straight into his partner.

"Uncle Steve! I've missed you so much," she babbled happily, clinging to his legs as though it were her only lifeline, utterly oblivious to just how stiff that lifeline had become. "Danno said I couldn't see you for a while, because you weren't feeling well, but today you were feeling better and I could see you. I'm so glad I can see you."

Steve stood pale and frozen, arms raised awkwardly at his sides, his eyes pleading miserably with Danny, _"Make it stop, please make it stop..."_

Danny swallowed. Hard. _What the hell was going on?_

His daughter, bless her heart, noticed that something was off, too. Leaning back a bit, she looked up, trying to get a better view of Steve's face. "What's wrong, Uncle Steve?" she inquired, frowning.

"Gracie, honey," Danny placed a tentative hand on the little girl's shoulder, "I think we should go now and let uncle Steve rest for a while."

She turned to him then, her big brown eyes worried, apprehensive. "Is uncle Steve still sick?"

Danny shot his partner a questioning look, but Steve avoided his gaze, using Grace's distraction to pull back even more and wrench himself free of her grip.

"I'm sorry, I... I can't..." he mumbled, looking anywhere but at the bewildered pair before him. A fraction of a second later he was already striding purposefully to his house, leaving the two of them behind.

"Danno?" Grace's little hand found his, tugging on it until she had her father's full attention. "Is uncle Steve mad at me?"

"What?" the nine-year-old's question pulled Danny from his own disturbing thoughts, and he bent down quickly, pulling her into a hug that ended with her being hoisted into his arms. "No, no, no, Sweetie, of course not. Uncle Steve is just not feeling okay yet. So let's give him some more time, okay?"

The little girl nodded, all seriousness, and Danny held her even tighter in response, burrowing his face in her hair for the briefest of seconds. "Let me take you back to your mom's, okay?" he said, heading back for their car. "I gotta go back to the office and make a couple of phone calls."

"Okay, Danno."

"Okay. Danno loves you."

"I love you too, Danno. ... Danno?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you gonna be calling about uncle Steve?"

He stopped in his tracks, tilting his head to look closely at his child. "What makes you think that?"

Grace shrugged noncommittally. "I don't know. I just... I thought you might be... Will you help him get better, Danno?"

He nodded sharply, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Of course I will, Monkey. This is Danno we're talking about. And what can Danno do?"

"Anything."

"That's my girl."

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><p><em>TBC<em>

_Let me know your thoughts (please?) :-)_


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N Thank you everyone so much for your comments! This chapter should begin to answer some of the questions that have been raised by some of you throughout the story. I hope the answers make sense. **

**I apologize for the chapter being shorter than usual. I'm not sure how busy I'll be next week, so I hurried to get at least something out while I have a chance :-) Hope you enjoy it. As always, I welcome your comments. **

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><p><strong>O Black Raven, pull your claws back<strong>

**Why unfurl them above my head?**

**Do you sense a prey, Black Raven?**

**O Black Raven, I'm not yours.**

**Chapter 16**

He stumbled inside, nearly tripping over his own feet, his entire body shaking furiously like that of a man possessed. He wasn't any more in control of it either. Dropping limply to his knees, he groaned pitifully, as he fought to break free from the clutches of painful memories that seized his unsettled mind the moment he saw Danny's daughter.

_"Grace. Dear God, what have I done?"_ _That sweet, innocent child. _He knew he probably confused her, scared her even, but there was nothing he could do. Fear took hold of every cell in his body, and he froze, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to even breathe. He needed to get out of there, to get away from her. And, yes, he knew that Danny was probably never going to speak to him again_._ Ever. But he couldn't help the moment he saw her smiling at him, running toward him, shouting his name, that image of a carefree, laughing little girl morphed with a horror-movie-like inescapability into something else entirely - something dark, soul-wrenching, sinister.

The shout of joy warped into a harrowing scream of agony and fear; hands reaching happily toward him grew skinny and bloodied; the angelic, joyful smile twisted into an ugly grimace of pain. Another girl, another time. And yet she was suddenly here before him, resurrected by the sick, callous whim of his subconscious that cruelly substituted one little girl for another, until all he could see was that other girl's small lifeless body with a gaping wound in her chest, her lifeless unseeing eyes staring up at the grey indifferent sky, while the dark red stain slowly spread underneath her, soaking the pristine white snow.

A tortured, heart-searing cry tore from his lips, and he folded in on himself, throat burning with hot, suffocating tears. _"Stop! Please, stop! No more!"_ But the apparition lingered, cruel, haunting. He shook his head viciously, fisted hands digging into his temples as though trying to crush the nightmarish vision, to force it away. "Please," a whispered plea fading into nothingness. Useless, as the vision still remained, mocking his misery.

Dry, desperate sobs wracked his body, and he listed forward, letting his forehead rest against the floor, silently begging for release he knew was not to come. _"I can't do this anymore. I can't. Please..."_

A thought flashed in his feverish mind then, an idea born out of desperation, a dire need for relief, and he struggled to his feet, pushing his shaking wobbly legs toward the downstairs bathroom. _"Medicine cabinet. Prazosin. There." _Trembling hands reached for the bottle, uncooperative fingers beginning their struggle with the lid. This was an old prescription. Something he had gotten after a severely FUBARed mission in Iraq, when he couldn't close his eyes without having his mind ripped apart by nightmares. It helped him sleep back then. Kept him sane. He wasn't sure why he had kept it all those years. Forgot it was even there. Until now. Now he was hoping, desperately hoping it could help him again.

His fingers slipped off the lid for the nth time, and he cursed helplessly, flinging the bottle hard against the opposite wall. The thin plastic shattered, small blue and white pills spilling to the floor, scattering every which way, and he groaned, dropping to one knee to pick up four of the capsules. His throat - sandpaper-dry and hoarse from screaming - refused to allow him the luxury of dry-swallowing. And so he pulled himself up against the sink, turned on the water, popped the pills into his mouth one by one and, leaning awkwardly into the cold stream, took a big, convulsive swallow.

Remembering the bouts of dizziness that usually accompanied his taking of this medication, he staggered back out into the living room, plopped himself down onto the sofa, and, putting a tired hand over his eyes, silently begged for a miracle.

Moments later he was asleep.

H50-H50-H50

Danny sat at the desk, leaning forward on his elbows, frowning dubiously at the phone before him, as though the thing were a dangerous animal that wouldn't hesitate to bite him should he dare lay his finger on it.

Finally, heaving a decisive sigh, he picked up the device and dialed the dreaded number. His call was answered on the fourth ring.

"White."

"Joe... uh... it's Danny. Williams. I... uh... I know I said I wouldn't..."

"Is it Steve?" the other man interrupted his half-hearted excuse, and Danny's frown deepened at the worry he heard reflected in the older man's voice. _Was he, perhaps, too hard on Joe?_

"He's ... uh... he's not doing so good. He left the hospital. Cut himself off from everybody. He won't talk to me. And today... He saw Grace today, and he completely freaked out. Joe, I've never seen him like this. I don't know what to do. I want to help him, but I don't know how. I need... I need to know what happened to him there. I need your help," he admitted finally, and held his breath, waiting for the other man's response.

Joe was silent for several long minutes, and Danny's fingers curled nervously around the edge of the desk. _"Come on, please."_

"I don't have that kind of information, Danny. But I might know someone who does. Are you at the office?"

"Uhm... yes," he responded hesitantly, wondering what the heck Joe was up to.

"I'll call you on video conference line in half an hour. Have the webcam set up."

H50-H50-H50

Exactly thirty-five minutes later, Danny was standing in front of the large video screen, staring at the grainy image of Joe and another vaguely familiar man - gaunt and wrinkled with closely cropped graying hair.

"Danny, this is Kwan Sun Jhi. I believe you two have met briefly in Korea."

_Of course. Those eyes. _Danny remembered those eyes - sad and haunted, meeting his gaze over Steve's prone, feverish form. He shuddered involuntarily, pushing back the painful memory.

"H-how?" he managed, swallowing dryly, as he tried unsuccessfully to pull his gaze away from the Korean.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Joe shrug vaguely. "The Yakuza happens to be North Korea's biggest drug distributor on the Japanese market. When they found out that the commandant of one of North Korean kwan-li-so camps had numerous dealings with Wo Fat, who, as was recently discovered through Shelburne's assistance, **is** the rogue distributor the Yakuza had been so anxious to catch, they became ... upset."

"Upset enough to supply a stealth helicopter and a crew of mercenaries?" Danny wondered, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the Yakuza sponsored their latest foray into North Korea.

"Upset enough to threaten to cut off all relations with North Korean suppliers, unless they agree to let the Yakuza men take care of the camp and the commandant."

"Wow..."

"Joe was ... he helped us, prisoners," the heavily accented voice cut in to their conversation, and Danny started, shifting his gaze back to the North Korean. "He save us."

White shook his head in dismissal. "The men I was with were under no specific orders to harm the prisoners, only to level the camp. I merely pointed out that these people were held prisoner by the very man, who crossed the Yakuza, and that it would be only fitting to get them the help they needed."

"You brought them all to Japan?" Danny's eyes widened in surprise.

"Not all of them. Some wanted to stay in North Korea." He shrugged again. "Their choice. The others are currently treated in various hospitals in Japan."

"Well, what do you know," Danny snorted, incredulous, "never figured the Yakuza for a humanitarian organization."

"Actually, the Yakuza have been known to provide humanitarian assistance in dire times," Joe objected, his expression unreadable.

"I'm sure they have," the blond waved his hand dismissively, "and you can enlighten me on that particular subject later. I'd like to get back to Steve now."

"Alright," Joe acquiesced, turning to his companion. "Can you tell him what you know of Steve's life in the camp?"

Kwan Sun nodded, and for the next twenty minutes Danny listened with ever-growing horror, as his rasping, thickly accented voice brought to light before him the stuff of his friend's nightmares.

The Korean's voice broke, as he began speaking about his daughter's final moments, a lone tear rolling down his weathered, wrinkled cheek. And Danny froze, his heart thudding painfully in his chest, as he thought back to Steve's interaction with Grace earlier this morning. _"Shit."_

His eyes met Joe's, and he saw the same fear and apprehension there.

"Go," the older man mouthed.

Danny didn't need to be told twice. Pausing long enough to grab his phone and keys off the table, he dashed out the doors, dialing his partner's number as he ran.

Moments later, as his Camaro peeled out of the parking lot, the phone lying discarded on the passenger seat next to him, his futile attempts to reach his partner abandoned, all Danny could think was, "I shouldn't left him alone."

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><p><em>TBC<em>

_A bit of a cliffie, I suppose. Sorry. Seemed like a good place to end. Let me know your thoughts._


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N Thank you all so much for reading and taking the time to review. I was very encouraged by all the responses to the last chapter. I know some of you would like to see the other team members, and you will. I believe both Chin and Kono will make an appearance in the next chapter, in addition to a few other characters :) I am also hoping that the next chapter will actually be able to wrap up the story.  
><strong>

**Once again, thank you immensely for your support. I was going for angst and some comfort in this chapter. Not sure how well that turned out, but I do hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think.**

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><p><strong>O Black Raven, do not circle<strong>

**In the sky above my head,**

**You'll not have me as your quarry**

**O Black Raven, I'm not yours**

**Chapter 17**

"Steve? Steve?"

The house responded to his calls with ominous silence, and Danny's stomach clenched into a tight, ice-cold ball of fear.

"Steve?" he tried again, more desperate this time, as he inched further into the living room, his hand hovering nervously above the weapon holster.

The sofa came into view, and Danny breathed an audible sigh of relief upon spying the familiar form of his partner sprawled on it in what appeared to be a relatively peaceful sleep. He was about to approach the prone man, when something on the floor near the partially open door to the bathroom caught his eye. He moved closer and picked it up, frowning uncomprehendingly at the innocuous-looking capsule in his hand. His gaze traveled further into the bathroom, taking in the multitude of identical blue and white objects littering the tiled floor along with splintered pieces of dark yellow plastic. He blinked, gaping dumbly at the scene before him, his mind reeling in denial and disbelief.

And then, as if a spring was released inside him, he whirled on his heels, dropping the pill back onto the floor, and dove for the couch, both hands frantically gripping the former SEAL's shoulders.

"Steve? Steve! Wake up, dammit!" he yelled, quickly moving from vigorously shaking his friend to outright slapping him roughly on the cheeks. "Please, please, **please**, don't do this to me! Wake up, you stupid bastard, wake up!"

The man in his grip shifted, the dark blue eyes fluttering open. A millisecond later Danny found himself flying backwards across the room and plopping rather gracelessly onto his behind a couple of feet away. "Shit," he breathed out, rubbing his smarting jaw.

McGarrett jerked into a sitting position, blinking at him in confusion.

"Danny?" he ran his fingers gingerly down his rapidly reddening cheek. "What the hell, man?"

"How many did you take?" the blond detective fired back at him, ignoring the question, as he picked himself up off the floor with an exaggerated groan.

"What?"

"The pills in the bathroom, Steve. How many?"

The confusion on Steve's face gave way to a scowl. "It's not what you think, Danny."

"No?"

"No, **Danny**," he gritted out the words, suddenly angry. " I wasn't trying to kill myself. I took the proper dosage. I just wanted to stop seeing -" He clamped his mouth shut, biting down hard on his lower lip, swallowing down the name that nearly slipped forth from his lips. It left a bitter, nauseating taste in his mouth. _Or maybe it was just the pills?_

He must have slipped deep in thought, losing a few seconds of reality, for in the next moment he became aware of Danny being suddenly much closer to him than before, the man's pants effectively blocking his view of the rest of the room.

"Seeing who, Steve?" the blond asked, his voice soft, cautious, lacking the earlier near-bellicose urgency. "Yun Hee?"

Steve's head shot up, color draining from his cheeks faster than a drop of water from the arid Kara-Kum desert.

"Wh...what?" he gasped out, feeling as though his lungs have suddenly become dangerously low on oxygen.

And then he was on his feet, in Danny's face, towering over him, fists clenching and unclenching convulsively at his sides. "What did you just say?"

The shorter man swallowed harshly, forcing himself not to step back under the SEAL's withering glare. "I was worried," he tried lamely, watching Steve's face carefully. "After your meltdown with Grace earlier, I was... I never felt so clueless or helpless in my entire life, Steve. I didn't know what else to do. I... I called Joe." He broke eye contact, heaving a deep sigh of defeat, "I'm sorry."

"Joe wouldn't have that kind of information, **Danny**," Steve's voice was flat and deceptively calm. "So who else did you talk to? Huh, **partner**?"

The blond cringed at the raw, jeering bitterness in his friend's voice. "Kwan Sun," he supplied quietly, watching with dismay as Steve's fists clenched once more and remained frozen in that position. He waited, but no words were forthcoming. Steve stood stock-still before him. And Danny was close enough to actually feel the man's breath hitch when he uttered that name.

"He's in a hospital in Japan. Joe put me in touch with him."

"You went behind my back," the SEAL ground out, breathless, and Danny risked a glance upward, and fought the urge to look away again under the intensity of the stare that met him.

"I needed to know," he defended stubbornly.

And was cut off by a rather indelicate shove to his shoulder, as the taller man pushed him to the side, stalking over to the window with a harsh, "No, Danny, you didn't."

Running a tired hand over his face, the blond stared exasperated after his friend's retreating back. _Did he just screw up any and all chances of getting through to him?_ He looked helplessly around the room, as if searching for some source of assistance in his current predicament. There were none. And Danny sighed in resignation. _Guess it was just him, then. Well, time to take the bull by the horns._

"You know," he began, as he moved closer to the SEAL, cautious and hesitant in his approach, "I think we're overdue for another lecture about how this whole partnership thing works. I'm pretty sure I'm entitled to feel concerned **and** act on it."

"By snooping around behind my back?" Steve's voice was quiet and dull, lacking the earlier hostility.

"If that's what it takes to get through to you, then yes," Danny ploughed on convincingly, and Steve turned to face him finally, arms crossed tightly on his chest.

Dark blue eyes roamed over Danny, grim and distrustful. "Would you do the same to Grace? Would you go through her diary when she's sixteen just to indulge your **concern**?"

"I would," he nodded without hesitation. "If I feel that there's reason for concern, you bet your ass I would. And you know why? Because I'm more worried about keeping my little girl safe than about offending her sensibilities." _"Same goes for you, man," _he added silently, hoping that Steve understood.

Steve looked away then, his teeth pressing together so tightly that his cheekbones stood out like the sharp ridges of a cliff on his still too gaunt a face.

"Did you ever consider that I wasn't ready to talk about this yet?" he asked finally, looking stubbornly to the side.

"I did," Danny nodded again. "And I was more than happy to give you as much time as you needed. Notice I didn't ask you a single question while you were at the hospital, regardless of how much I wanted to. And, believe me, I wanted to... very much." He shrugged almost angrily. "But then you had to run off and go for a near-drowning swim in the ocean. Add to that your meltdown with Grace, and I just had to push your timeline up a bit."

Steve remained silent and still, not a single change in his posture, not even a twitch, and the blond detective shook his head in frustration. _"Stubborn mule."_ Gently and hesitantly, as though afraid of Steve's reaction to his touch, he placed his hand on the SEAL's bicep, eliciting a barely noticeable flinch from the other man. He didn't pull away, though, and Danny took that as a positive sign.

"Kwan Sun admires you, you know," he said softly, watching his friend's jaw line tighten even more. "He says he's never met anyone with so much strength inside." Steve's head turned slightly then, his eyes narrowing in a sharp, disbelieving glare, and Danny shrugged, "His words, not mine."

Steve pulled his gaze away again, his mouth set in a grim line, tension rolling off him in taut, palpable waves.

"When Kwan Sun told me what happened to his daughter," Danny continued, keeping his hand firmly on Steve's arm, tightening slightly, when he felt the muscles ripple with greater tension underneath, "I knew I had to get to you pronto. I know how your mind works, babe. I'm sure you found a way to make it all be your fault." His expression darkened with guilt. "And I'm sure seeing Gracie couldn't have helped."

This time Steve did pull away, sharply, leaving Danny once again staring at his rigidly stiff back. "It **was** my fault," he bit out hoarsely.

"Not the way I heard it," Danny objected, trying to reach for him again, but Steve took a step closer to the window, and Danny's hand met empty air instead.

"You weren't there, Danny."

"No, but Kwan Sun was."

Steve said nothing, but his shoulders sagged in defeat.

"Steve?" the Jersey native prompted worriedly, his hand hovering helplessly in the air.

"I can still hear her scream, Danny," the taller man whispered so quietly that Danny had to strain to hear him. "Every goddamn second of every day. I hear her calling for me, and I... I feel like banging my head against the wall. Anything to make it stop." He leaned forward, open palms resting on the cool glass of the window pane. " I see her face every time I close my eyes." He snorted bitterly. "My punishment, I suppose."

"Steve, I -"

"After they were done lashing me," Steve continued hoarsely, as if he hadn't heard him, "they left. Just left. And it was only me and her out there in the open. It was cold. So damn cold. And I couldn't move a muscle. I was so tired. ...I think I passed out at some point, 'cause the next thing I remember was seeing these black ravens circling above her. She was just lying there, and they would ... they would come down and tear at her body and fly back up and... And I couldn't... I couldn't reach her, couldn't do anything to help her." He broke off with a groan, letting his head drop forward, hitting the window with a dull thud.

Standing behind him Danny closed his eyes, fighting back tears, his heart clenching at the severity of his friend's pain. Biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted the familiar copper of blood, he forced his leaden legs to move, closing the short distance between them. Silently he placed his hand on the small of his friend's back, letting him know that he was there, that it was okay, that it was _going to be_ okay.

A slight shiver ran down the SEAL's spine, and his fingers scraped across the glass, curling into fists. "She saved me, you know," he supplied in a dull, hollow voice, without turning his head. "I was so tired of my life there, so sure that I would never be found that I made up my mind to get it over with. Go out with a bang," he let out a bitter bark of a laughter. "I was just about to jump the guards right when I heard her scream. If it hadn't been for her..."

"Geez," Danny felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. _Steve was ready to give up then. If it hadn't been for that little girl, his friend would have already been dead. Buried somewhere in an unmarked grave in the middle of North Korea. And none of their efforts to find him would have made any difference. _ He shuddered at the thought, his hand subconsciously digging deeper into his partner's back, as if needing to reassure himself that this nightmare hadn't become a reality.

Steve tore away suddenly, one hand flying up to clamp like a tight vise over his mouth, and ran stumbling for the bathroom.

Moments later Danny, who hesitated only a brief second before following his friend, heard the unmistakable sounds of retching. Reaching the bathroom door, he lingered there briefly, wincing in sympathy, as he watched the taller man hunched miserably over the porcelain seat, shaking from gut-wrenching, dry heaves.

"Easy, babe, easy," he murmured, sliding down to his knees next to his partner and rubbing comforting circles across his trembling back.

"Damn... pills..." Steve huffed out wretchedly, desperately trying to catch his breath.

"What the hell were they, anyway?" Danny inquired cautiously, afraid to once again touch a nerve.

"Pra...prazosin... H-helps with... with n-nightmares... PT...S...D..." the rest of the phrase was drowned out, as Steve once again doubled over, gagging painfully over the toilet bowl.

"Oh, so you actually went to a professional?" Danny perked up, his hand continuing its calming track across Steve's back.

The SEAL shook his head mutely, waiting for another bout of nausea to subside. "O-old pills... Had them... from b-before..."

"How old?" The frown was back on Danny's face, his hand stilling subconsciously, as he waited for an answer.

"F-few... years..."

Danny fought the urge to smack his partner on the head. "Well, that explains it. I'm surprised it took them this long to turn your guts inside out."

"H-had nau...nausea with ... them b-before..., D...Danny," Steve managed breathlessly, his fingers digging viciously into the porcelain edges, as his stomach continued to roil. "J-just nev-ver this... bad..."

"Gee, I wonder why," the Jersey native bit out sarcastically. "Moron."

Steve unfolded himself finally and, breathing raggedly as if he had just run a marathon, sagged weakly against the nearby wall, running a shaking hand down his sweat-covered face. Hooded eyes watched Danny warily, questioningly.

"I didn't think ...I'd... see you again ...after today," he breathed out, and bit his lip, as the shorter man looked at him with something resembling a scowl.

"And why would you think that, huh Steven?"

"Grace..." he shrugged weakly and trailed off, as Danny chose that moment to slide toward him, leaning against the wall until they were seated side by side, their shoulders touching slightly.

"Grace knows that her uncle Steve is hurting," the blond responded, turning to face his pale companion. "She was upset, sure," he continued, and as Steve dropped his head weakly, guilt written plainly across his features, he hastened to add, "but she's more worried about getting you the help you need. She actually made me promise I'll help you get better."

His friend looked up at that, the pained blue eyes rising to meet his, their gaze hopeful and unsure. "She's a good kid," he whispered.

And Danny nodded, smiling at him encouragingly. "The best. And you, my friend, now have no choice." He snorted at Steve's comically raised eyebrow and clarified, "Danno's on the job now. And Danno always keeps his promises."

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N** Apologies, apologies, apologies to everyone. I hate that it has taken me so long to finish this story. But it is _finally_ finished (and a much-much longer chapter, too, than my usual length). All the loose ends have been tied up, although some of that has been left behind the scenes. I hope the end result is to everyone's satisfaction.

Thank you for your prodding and for not giving up on this story (those of you who haven't yet, at least). I appreciate your patience and support!

* * *

><p><strong>O Black Raven, pull your claws back<strong>

**Why unfurl them above my head?**

**You'll not have me as your quarry**

**O Black Raven, I'm not yours**

**Chapter 18**

The sound of a car's engine outside the window made him jump involuntarily, and he scowled angrily at his own weakness. _He could do this, dammit! He __**wanted **__to do this._

Finishing his drink in one big desperate gulp, he placed the glass into the sink − his movements too careful, too deliberate − and went to open the door, cursing his hand for shaking traitorously as it closed around the handle.

Flinging the door open, he was just in time to see his partner help Grace climb out of the Camaro, and he waved at the pair, hoping his apprehension didn't show on his face.

When Danny suggested he have a party, he was hesitant, not at all certain that he was ready to face everyone just yet, especially Grace. But Danny had been so patient with him these past few weeks, so supportive. Danny kept him afloat with his calm, rock-solid presence, his stubborn unwillingness to retreat, to give up the fight against the darkness that sunk its fangs into Steve so deep he couldn't catch a breath, his refusal to let Steve sink into the black viscous mire of his memories, and his gentle but unyielding insistence that Steve keep going, that he was not nor will he ever be alone in this. Without it Steve would have long fallen down the deep rabbit hole of despair that would have likely ended with his brains being splattered across the wall courtesy of his very own Sig Sauer.

So, yeah, he owed a whole damn lot to Danny, and seeing the timid, starved hope in his friend's eyes, he didn't have the heart to say no. And, hell, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all. He has made a lot of progress over the past few days. _Maybe he __**was**__ ready. And if he wasn't... well, then he would suck it up and make like he is. He was a goddamn SEAL, not a pansy._

So he steeled himself as he watched them approach, Danny's arms filled with several pizza boxes.

"Hey there, partner," Danny greeted him warmly, shoving the boxes in his direction.

"Pizza, Danny? Really?" He gripped the boxes tightly, perhaps even with greater force than necessary, grateful to have something to occupy his hands, to focus on something other than the way Gracie stayed back, partially hiding from him behind her father's leg. Something other than the look of wariness and unease in her normally brilliant, sparkling eyes.

_That sweet innocent little girl was wary of **him**, distrustful of **him**. He did that. Dear GOD, **he** did that. How was he ever going to fix that? _

His heart lurched painfully in his chest, the realization almost too painful to bear.

Vaguely he heard Danny grumble something about the ubiquitous pineapples and making sure there was something for normal people to eat at his party as well. One of Danny's usual jabs at him and all things Hawaii, to be sure. He forced a smile on his lips, nodding absently in acknowledgment.

"I'll go put these on the lanai." His voice sounded odd to his own ears - numb, mechanical - and he was perfectly aware that Danny was staring closely at him now, his brows pulling together in a frown of concern. _Shit. _

He shook himself mentally, forcibly gluing his crumbling SEAL mask back together. _He just needed a few moments to pull himself together, to think, and then he'll talk to Grace. He will. He just needed to figure out how. That's all._

He turned then, moving quickly toward the lanai doors, yearning for the few precious moments of solitude to get his frazzled mind back on track.

"Uncle Steve?" The thin, trembling voice called out to him, freezing him in his tracks inches away from his goal. "Are you still upset with me?"

Cut to the very core with those few simple words, Steve whirled back, the pizza boxes flopping gently onto the floor, as he dropped to his knees before her, hands reaching out toward her in a supplicating, pleading gesture.

"Gracie, honey, no," he murmured hoarsely, his heart breaking in so many pieces. "I was never EVER upset with you." He cursed mentally, seeing the doubtful, hesitant look in the suspiciously glistening brown eyes. _"Way to go, McGarrett." _

"Sweetheart, I'm so, so sorry for the way I reacted the other day, but this had **nothing** to do with me being upset with you. Please, please, **please,** believe me. I'm sure Danno's told you the same thing."

"He did," Grace nodded, "it's just...," she broke off and then looked away, biting her bottom lip.

"What? What is it?" He kept his tone as gentle as possible, even as he felt a knot of worry tighten in his gut at her distressed expression.

The little girl raised her troubled eyes to him, her lips quivering with barely suppressed tears. "I... I overhead Danno talking to uncle Chin..."

_"Oh, no."_

"...He said I reminded you of something that hurt you very badly and-"

"Oh, Gracie," he choked out, his own pain forgotten. The only thing important, the only thing that mattered was soothing away the pain he saw in the big, tear-filled eyes. "Here," the hoarse whisper tumbled past the suffocating lump in his throat, arms opening wide to receive her, "come here."

Grace hesitated for the briefest of seconds; then with a desperate sob she flung herself into his arms and hugged him feverishly, holding on to him for dear life.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Uncle Steve," she sniffled into his shoulder, her body shaking like an aspen leaf in the wind.

"No, honey, no," he soothed, planting a gentle kiss on the tousled pig-tailed head. "You never hurt me. Never."

He sighed, desperately searching for a way to allay her fears once and for all. He saw Danny move in closer, hovering just a few steps behind his daughter, his own face - a mask of guilt and worry. The blond held back, though, however excruciatingly difficult it must have been for him to go against every fatherly instinct that was screaming at him to run to his daughter and kiss her tears away. He was letting him, Steve, handle it. Because Steve needed to be the one to fix it, and Danny knew it. And Steve nearly choked on the wave of gratitude that washed over him at that moment.

Danny caught his eyes and nodded at him, tense but encouraging. _"Come on, Super SEAL, you can do this_,_"_ he almost heard him say, and he dipped his head to him in silent thanks.

"You ever have nightmares, Gracie?"

She nodded, pulling her face away from his shirt to give him a confused frown.

"You know how sometimes you can keep seeing the bad things from your dreams even after you wake up?"

Another nod, and then her tear-stained face scrunched up in sudden realization. "Do you keep seeing the bad things, Uncle Steve?"

"I did... for a while," he confirmed, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I don't so much anymore, but that day... when I saw you, I wasn't ... well, I wasn't actually seeing you. You understand?"

"You saw the monster instead," she whispered, her voice awed and serious. Tilting her head slightly, she studied his face, a look of genuine concern in the dark eyes. "Are the monsters gone now?"

"They are," Steve assuaged her, giving her what he hoped was a convincing smile.

"I'm glad," Grace responded with a tremulous smile of her own.

"Me too. And you know why?"

She shook her head slightly, waiting for him to continue, and he pulled her closer, whispering warmly into her ear, "Because I've been waiting for a good Gracie hug for a really, really long time."

He smiled, genuinely this time, as he felt her arms tighten around his neck in response.

"I wished for you, you know," she mumbled into shirt, still holding on to him as tightly as before. "On my birthday, I wished for you to come back."

"And I disappointed you, didn't I," he breathed out, swallowing down another rapidly forming lump. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

Grace pulled back again, giving him a long, scrutinizing stare. And then her small hand somehow ended up pressed gently against the side of his face. "But you are back now, Uncle Steve. You're just... belated."

H50-H50-H50

Several hours have passed. Fire in the grill had died down. Empty plates were pushed aside, and empty pizza boxes lay discarded under the table.

Worn out from the emotionally draining day, her tummy filled with good food, Grace had curled up on a chair next to Steve, and was snoring softly, leaning against his side, the SEAL's arm wrapped gently and protectively around her little body. The Five-0 team, in full force for the first time in so many months, was relaxing in the lounge chairs, watching lazily as the sun slowly made its night-bound trek toward the cool azure waters.

Steve sighed contentedly and leaned his head back to rest against the chair, letting his eyes close briefly, as he savored the salty smell of the ocean. He felt happy and surprisingly at peace. Whatever fears and trepidations he had about getting back together with his team after his North Korean ordeal melted away like a bad dream in the face of genuine affection and warmth of his friends' reception of him. That warmth soaked into his skin, poured into his veins and filled his heart. It hasn't let him go since.

The click of a phone camera made him look up, and he found himself staring at Kono's mischievously grinning face. "Sorry, Boss, but the two of you look way too cute to pass this up," she giggled, pocketing her iPhone.

"Laugh it up, Rookie," he grumbled good-naturedly, scowling at her, "see how you like it if I put you on desk duty for a month."

"No way, Boss," Kono retorted, matching him tone for tone, as she plopped satisfied back into her seat. "You like me too much to do that."

Shaking his head in mock frustration, the former SEAL looked to Chin for support, but the older man shrugged, spreading his arms out in a gesture of helplessness. "She's got you there, Brah."

"A goddamn mutiny is what it is," the 5-0 leader growled, fighting to pull his face into a frown and failing miserably. Realizing he was beat, he heaved another sigh, shifting slightly to get more comfortable in his half of the chair.

"Do you want me to take her for a while?" Kono offered, gesturing toward the still soundly sleeping Grace. "You look like you could use a break."

Steve was about to decline her offer, but Danny surprised him by suddenly lurching to his feet with an enthusiastic, "Thanks, Kono."

Carefully sliding his arms under his daughter's sleeping form, where she was pressed against his partner's side, the blond gingerly picked her up and placed her into Kono's waiting arms, all the while suspiciously ignoring Steve's questioning stare.

"Let's me and you go for a little walk," Danny said, offering his bewildered partner a hand and pulling him up. "Gotta stretch those muscles a bit."

Steve's eyebrows shot up even higher at that, and he flicked a quick gaze at Kono and Chin. They appeared to be equally confused, however, and so with a resigned shrug Steve followed his blond-haired partner back toward the house.

"What's going on, Danny?" he asked, as soon as the lanai doors closed behind him, frowning at his friend's stiffened back. The tension he felt radiating from the shorter man was rapidly eliminating the warm, peaceful feeling from before, replacing it with a dark, unsettling foreboding. Subconsciously his hands curled into fists at his sides, and he shoved them hurriedly into his pockets, forcing himself to take a calming breath.

Danny turned to him finally, his eyes never quite rising to meet Steve's. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you," he began, chewing nervously on his bottom lip. "I was just waiting for you to... you know, be ready... emotionally."

"Uh-huh," Steve drawled out, his frown deepening. "And just what exactly, in your professional opinion, am I ready for? Emotionally, as you put it?"

"I ...uh... I found out some things..."

"About...?" His patience was gradually starting to go the way of his tranquility.

Danny met his gaze finally, and Steve felt his gut clench nervously at the pained, regretful look he saw in his friend's eyes. Danny's very next words turned that nervous knot into a block of ice.

"Shelburne."

"Wha... h-... how?"

Whatever response Danny was going to give to that inarticulate question, however, was rudely interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Frowning at the unexpected intrusion, Steve moved to answer the door, throwing his partner a quick "you stay right there".

He flung the door open, his mind still churning over Danny's last words, and froze, finding himself face to face with none other than the head of the local Yakuza himself, Adam Noshimuri.

Danny was at his side that same instant, sliding in front of him in a fiercely protective motion.

"What in hell are **you** doing here?" he growled, before Steve's muddled brain even had a chance to formulate any semblance of human speech. "How the fuck do you even dare?"

The blond detective's index finger rose abruptly, jabbing the Asian man in the chest with enough force to make the latter take a step back. And Steve shook himself out of his stupor at that, suddenly afraid that his friend may not confine himself to simple finger pointing. Especially because Noshimuri's two goons seemed to have gotten the same impression, moving closer to their boss, their hands reaching menacingly inside their suit jackets.

Placing a restraining hand on Danny's shoulder, Steve pulled him back a bit, his eyes never leaving Noshimuri's face.

"You got no business here," he said slowly, hoping his voice sounded steadier than he felt. "So get the hell off my property."

Adam Noshimuri raised his hand calmly, gesturing for his men to stand down. "I'm not here as your enemy, Commander," he insisted, meeting his gaze openly. "I merely wish to speak to you, to make amends."

"No," Danny cut in sharply, throwing a quick glance at Steve's face and clearly not liking whatever he saw there, because his expression grew even fiercer. "Hell no! You got something to say, find a goddamn Hallmark card that covers kidnapping and torture and stick in the mail." He flung his hand in the direction of the black SUV parked in front of McGarrett's house. "Leave. Now."

"Danny..., let him talk," Steve's voice was quiet but firm, and Danny relented, throwing another worried look his way.

_"Are you sure about this?"_ his eyes seemed to ask, and Steve forced himself to nod. "I'd like to hear what he has to say," he explained, trying to sound convincing, even though he felt anything but.

Noshimuri took a small step toward him, tilting his head slightly as if trying to read deeper underneath his already frayed outer shell.

"I **am **sorry for the hardships my actions have caused you, Commander," the man stated, his voice steady and carefully controlled. "You were an innocent man in all this, and I was ...a distraught son. I acted on my emotions and on some false information provided by a man, who made you his personal enemy."

Noshimuri's mouth tightened in a grim line - a brief chink in his armor of imperturbability.

"I consider myself a man of honor, Commander," he continued, flinching at Danny's sharp snort of derision. "I cannot ... I won't presume that any apology would ever be enough for the pain I've caused, but I should like to be able to say that I have at least done something to atone for my actions."

Steve shifted slightly, dropping his hand from Danny's shoulder and bringing both arms to lay across his chest in a subconsciously defensive gesture. "That's all very nice, but –"

"I lost my mother at a young age, too, Commander," Noshimuri interrupted, his gaze – dark and intense – boring into Steve, searching. "I know the pain of losing one parent. A few weeks ago, like you, I learned the pain of losing both."

He paused, taking another step forward, and Steve tensed involuntarily, forcing himself to remain still. He had no idea where this conversation was going, but he was starting to grow more and more uncomfortable with the subject. And more and more confused. And what he found even more confusing was the fact that Danny seemed to tense up as the Yakuza boss shifted the conversation to the topic of parents. Where before his friend's body language exuded pure hostility, there was now quite a bit of agitation, and for the life of him Steve could not figure out the reason for the change.

"Personally, I would have done anything to bring either one of my parents back," Adam continued, breaking his jumbled train of thought. "I thought I would repay you by helping bring back one of yours."

Steve frowned, the dark blue eyes narrowing in confusion. "What are you talking about?" He chose to ignore for the moment a sharp intake of breath to his left, as Danny shifted a bit away from him.

"I found out through my sources in Japan that your mother was unable to return to Hawaii, because her life was in danger as long as Wo Fat was alive," Noshimuri explained in the same unnervingly calm voice. "I had my men track down and eliminate that threat. I also took the liberty of booking a flight for Mrs. McGarrett." He reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a small piece of paper. "Her plane will be landing in a few hours. Here's her flight information. You can..."

He trailed off, taken aback by the sudden change that came over his former adversary.

Eyes wide and frozen on his suddenly ashen face, Steve staggered backwards, leaning heavily against the wall, staring at Adam Noshimuri as though the man had just grown a second head.

"My m-... my ...what?" he choked out hoarsely, his breaths coming in short convulsive bursts.

"I'm sorry," the Yakuza boss replied, throwing a confused glance at Danny. "I was under the impression that you already knew that your mother was alive."

Slowly, dazedly Steve followed Noshimuri's gaze, settling on the inexplicably flushed face of his partner, and the numb confusion in the dark blue eyes rapidly gave way to the hurt of betrayal.

"Was this what you were waiting to tell me, Danny?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his heart thudding painfully and hollowly inside his chest. "That my mother was alive? That –"

His thoughts went back to what Danny was saying earlier, and he felt cold dread wash over him, a shudder that nearly caused his legs to buckle.

"She's Shelburne, isn't she?" he whispered, fighting to pull enough air into his suddenly starved lungs. _Why was it getting so damn hard to breathe? _Fingers scraping the wall for support, digging into the rough surface hard enough to draw blood, he searched his friend's face desperately for some sign that this was all just a poorly thought out joke, a bad dream, his eyes pleading with Danny to deny it, all of it.

But Danny didn't. Couldn't. All Danny could do was shake his head in defeat and look guiltily away.

And Steve swallowed harshly, reeling back as if from a blow. His gaze, wild and desperate, landed on Adam Noshimuri's face once more, but he saw nothing there to dispel his theories. Only a small flicker of regret in the dark slanted eyes.

Blood pounded deafeningly in his ears, making him dizzy, and he slammed his eyes shut, throwing all of his reserves into simply holding himself together, into keeping upright. He felt a hand on his shoulder, Danny's quiet, pleading 'Steve' whispered above his ear, and he tore himself violently away, stumbling out of his friend's reach.

"Don't," he bit out hoarsely, putting up a shaking hand like a wall between himself and his partner, "just... don't."

A fraction of a second later, Danny was left staring after his retreating back.

H50-H50-H50

Danny cursed heartily, berating himself for being too slow, too indecisive, too afraid to mess things up for Steve now that the man was finally beginning to resemble his old self; berating Adam Noshimuri's god-awful timing that catapulted him straight to hell along with all of his good intentions.

It was a useless rage, to be sure, a howl of impotence. For the one thing he was most trying to avoid – hurting his best friend – he ended up making happen. And in the worst possible way. The one thing that he resented Doris McGarrett and Joe White for doing – lying to Steve, betraying his trust – he did that, too.

And where the hell does that leave Steve, when the last person he trusted implicitly ended up betraying him as well?

Icy fingers of worry wrapped themselves tightly around his heart, and suddenly the need to find Steve, to make sure he was alright became overwhelming, nauseatingly so.

"Here," Adam Noshimuri, whose existence he had briefly forgotten, placed a neatly folded piece of paper into Danny's hand, covering it briefly with his own. "Give this to McGarrett for me."

The Asian paused, his gaze flicking nervously in the direction the former SEAL had disappeared to. "I wanted to do what's best," he mused, shaking his head in dismay. "It appears I made things worse."

"Welcome to the club," Danny muttered grimly, but, noting the remorseful expression on the other man's face, he relented, offering magnanimously, "It wasn't your fault. You... it was a nice thing you did, really. Steve just... he wasn't ready. He'll come around, though." _"I hope," _he added silently.

Noshimuri nodded pensively. "Good day, Detective. Tell McGarrett I'm sorry. ... For everything."

But Danny was no longer listening. He was already running through the house in search of his partner, not even bothering to close the door behind their unexpected guest, his legs carrying him faster and faster with each step.

The door to the study was left ajar, and he skidded to a halt in front of it, letting out a long sigh of relief upon spotting the familiar figure sitting slumped in a chair at his father's desk, his head bowed low, contemplating something in his right hand.

"Babe?" he asked softly, stepping cautiously into the room. "Are you okay?"

Steve didn't respond, didn't look up. Not a single muscle twitch told Danny that he had even heard him. Frowning, his concern rising up a notch, he approached the desk, peeking over Steve's shoulder at the item he was holding. It was a photograph, old and crinkled: a young woman smiling carefree at the camera, a small child tucked securely in her arms. Danny recognized her almost instantly – he'd seen the much older version of her that fateful day at the hospital. _"Geez, Steve..."_

"How long?" the hoarse, barely-there whisper caught him by surprise, and Danny blinked, uncomprehending.

"What?"

"How long have you known?" Steve's eyes were still glued to the picture, deliberately avoiding Danny's worried, searching gaze.

The blond sighed in resignation. There was no need to conceal anything, not anymore. He's already done enough damage by keeping the information from him as long as he had. Things couldn't really get any worse than this, could they?

"About a month. Your mother showed up at the hospital and –"

Steve looked up at that, the dark blue eye narrowing in shocked disbelief. "She came to the hospital? And she didn't–" He cut himself short, dropping his gaze back onto the photo in his hand. A fraction of a second later that same hand curled into a tight fist, crumpling the picture with no mercy before tossing it roughly across the desk.

_Apparently, they could. Much, much worse. Shit..._

"She couldn't stay," Danny said carefully, leaning against the desk as close to his partner as he dared to be at that moment. "Believe me I ripped into her pretty good for that – you'd have been proud of me." A ghost of a smile brushed across his partner's lips, and Danny's heart felt just a tad lighter at that. "And I'm not trying to excuse her or anything, but she did have a point. If she had stayed, Wo Fat would have made sure she didn't leave the island alive. She took a big risk coming to see you."

"I've been in bad scrapes before – she's never bothered to come see me then," Steve countered, his voice strangely hollow, defeatist. "She shouldn't have bothered now."

"Bad scrapes?" Danny nearly choked on the words. "Hate to burst your bubble, babe, but I've seen corpses that looked more alive than you. Skeletons with greater body mass. Zombies that–"

"All right, all right," Steve put up his hand, "you've made your point." An eyebrow raised skeptically, he gave his partner a mockingly incredulous look. "Zombies, Danny? Really?"

The blond shrugged. "I like the Oldies."

Another smile – a faint ripple across the pale lips – and then it was gone, and Steve's distressingly dark, pain-filled eyes were looking right through him at something only he could see. "Why?..." he whispered, so quietly that if Danny hadn't seen his mouth move, he'd think he probably imagined it. This wasn't about zombies anymore, Danny was sure of that.

"I think...," he paused, biting his lip nervously, carefully considering his next words, "I think your mother should be the one to tell you that."

The former SEAL met his gaze briefly, and Danny's heart clenched at the intensity of the pain he saw in the dark blue depths.

His breath hitching slightly, the Jersey native leaned forward, gingerly clasping the taller man's limp hand in his. "I'm so-so sorry, man. I've been wanting to talk to you about this for the longest time. I was trying to spare you from, well, _this_," he snorted bitterly, "and look where that got me, huh?"

A slight shake of Steve's head cut his excuses short. "You were right not to," he murmured, his voice rough and strained. "I don't think... I wouldn't have handled it well."

"As opposed to now?" Danny couldn't help the jab. It was in his nature. He gets nervous, he gets sarcastic. Steve should know him enough to understand that.

And Steve did. "As opposed to now," he confirmed quietly, a rueful half-smile matching his tone. Raising his free hand, he clapped Danny briefly on the shoulder and rose from the chair, pulling out of his friend's grasp.

"Steve?" Danny's voice tightened with concern, as he watched his friend walk stiffly toward the door, the tightly balled up fists bulging out of the pockets of his ever-present cargo pants.

"Drive me?" the SEAL asked softly, halting by the threshold.

"Drive you?" Danny was utterly flabbergasted now. "_Me_? Drive _you_? Where? And... who _are _you?"

"Airport, Danny," the taller man spared him another weak grin. "I just... I need–"

"To get there in one piece and not kill any bystanders? I get that. Very socially responsible of you," the blond smiled approvingly, barbs rolling off his tongue easier now that the tension was slowly draining away.

Steve was handling this. Better than he had hoped. The least he could do was be there for him. Holding his hand if need be.

"Let me just tell the guys where we're going. In case Gracie wakes up, you know."

Steve nodded, leaning back against the wall, as Danny passed by him on his way to the lanai.

"Oh, and Danny, just so we're clear," he warned, brows knit together in a mockingly fierce gesture, "there will be no hand-holding at the airport. People are talking already. I don't need my mother joining in on that conversation."

"Keep dreaming, McGarrett," the blond quipped, shaking his head in disbelief. _"Flipping mind-reader."_

* * *

><p><em>FIN<em>


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